Last Christmas
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: No one was supposed to find out. Ever. But then the murders started, and everything changed. Now Tony's life is spinning out of control and taking the team along for the ride. Tiva. Mentions of abuse.
1. Prologue: Odi et Amo

_Last Christmas_

_By L. M. Boulevardes_

* * *

_Prologue:_

_Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris._

_Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior_

_I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask._

_I do not know, but I sense that it happens and I am tortured._

_Catullus 85, translated by L. M. Boulevardes_

* * *

He never told anyone.

He should have; if anyone had given the situation back to him with different names he would in an instant have said that he should have acted, _told_. But he was himself in the situation with his own name, so he didn't tell anyone. Even when it was over, he was silent, never saying a word. Just sitting at his desk, thoughts in his head. He was a little surprised that no one suspected anything.

But maybe he shouldn't have been. He was a decent actor; crack a joke, throw in a movie reference, flash that famous DiNozzo smile and everything was taken at face value. Tony, playboy. Tony, who picked up women as fast as the average man blinked. He supposed that they didn't suspect because why would they? But sometimes (and only, only _sometimes)_ he felt just a little bad and wondered just a little bit why they didn't notice. But they he would remind himself that it was all in the past and there was no reason to dwell on bad memories.

Sometimes, sometimes he thought maybe, just maybe, they had something. When McGee would concernedly, tentatively, ask if he wanted to get out for a weekend, or at least get a drink. Sometimes Gibbs would ask in that awkward way of his if everything was okay. And Abby was more frequent with hugs and pitying looks, while Ducky silently treated injuries Tony insisted were from work or exercise.

But what he was never quite able to shake was the one time he caught Ziva looking at him, horror in her dark dark eyes. Right before Christmas. It was too cold for any sane person to be out, but he had gone running, too scared to be in the house with Her. And when he stood in the office changing his clothes, he didn't know she was there because what sane person got to the office that early? So he took off his shirt and heard her gasp and tried to fight the urge to hide the array of dark and faded bruises all over his stomach.

She flew from her desk over to him, carefully splaying her fingers over his skin (God, but she was warm!) and studying the injuries with frightened eyes.

"I do not understand . . . what –"

"Kickboxing class." Then he pulled away and stared her down until she realized that unacceptable as the answer was it was all she was getting. Because he wasn't about to tell her about fear and Hurricane Katrina and her fire poker and how he couldn't, just couldn't touch her she was so tiny and small. Another lie for poor Ziva.

And Christmas came, and he woke up in the ER one night to tears and kisses and promises and cuts and bruises everywhere. _Oh my god I'm so sorry Tony I'll never ever do this again you have to believe me oh my god I'm so sorry look at you baby I promise this won't happen again I promise baby please . . ._

She left once for the coffee machine and he took off even though wires and beeping machines screamed and hurt. He mailed all her things to her apartment, thanking his lucky stars that they hadn't officially moved in together yet and sold the unit. And then he moved. And then he changed his phone number. And unlisted everything. And Never Told Anyone. Because really, why should he? Everything healed. It all came out in the wash.

But then it didn't.


	2. I: Haunted

I: Haunted

_I can feel you all around me_

_Thickening the air I'm breathing_

_Flyleaf_

"You _have _to try my cupcakes. They're gluten-free. But they're really, really good. Because they're basically pure chocolate." Abby was standing over Tony's desk, her dark eyes bright and enthusiastic. He appreciated her optimism; the world hadn't stomped it out of her yet. She cheerily shoved the tray of cupcakes under Tony's nose. He sniffed them and grinned.

"I never say no to free chocolate Abs." He plucked the biggest, most heavily frosted one. Delicious.

"Hey Abby . . ."

"NONE FOR YOU CUPCAKE-THEIF!" McGee shrank back into his seat and Tony chuckled at his sullen look.

"Shouldn't have stolen the girl's cupcake," he scolded. McGee threw him a glare and returned to his computer, although Tony doubted that even McGeek understood whatever babble he was typing.

"Ziva?" Abby asked, looking across the way with her bright eyes. Ziva grinned.

"I would love one, Abby," she said, getting up.

"No can do, Zee-vah. These aren't kosher. Don't know what scary dishes Abby mixed up." He grinned innocently at her disapproving glare.

"Come on, Ziva. Can't go against the big man upstairs. You're the chosen people."

"We are indeed. So I think _I _have incurred enough favour to risk it." She grabbed the cupcake just as he was leaning in to take a bite. Abby laughed.

"That was cold, Ziva." She shrugged and arched an eyebrow as if to ask just what exactly he planned to do about it. He could think of plenty of things he'd like to do to her involving a cupcake. Like lick chocolate frosting off her navel . . .

"I'm sure you deserved it, DiNozzo. Pack it in, people. We've got a dead marine," Gibbs shouted as he stormed through the bullpen. Ziva put down the cupcake and Tony just as quickly picked up.

"Thanks, Ziva." Now the big bite. Just going out the door. He needed his energy, didn't he?

"Thanks, DiNozzo." Of course Gibbs would take it from him.

Dead people were messy. Tony wrinkled his nose as they pulled up on the scene. He hated when the bodies had been left for a few days. They smelt bad and leaked and stuff. He grimaced and began suiting up. He preferred looking through houses, creating profiles. Hunting down bad guys. Blood and guts were kind of gross.

"Move out the way. NCIS," Gibbs declared, glaring at the Montgomery County Maryland Police. The officers stepped aside, grumbling quietly about Federal arrogance.

The house they were in was small, almost ramshackle. Build around the fifties, maybe. One of those split levels. It was sparsely decorated, and he recalled that the Marine had just bought it before he was called to duty and only recently returned. _Some homecoming_. It was tidy, with a lot of white. A few pictures here and there.

The marine was attractive, and the pictures lacking a consistent girlfriend inclined Tony to think he was a playboy. He smiled somewhat bitterly. Yeah, that could be fun. Girl after girl after girl. And just a little while ago he would have admired him but now . . . now everything was different after Jeanne.

He allowed himself to steal a glance at Ziva before just as quickly berating himself for doing so. She was his partner, his colleague. He couldn't allow this romantic feeling to grow any larger than it already had. He needed to fight it. Besides, she clearly had Israel dude who probably spoke Hebrew with her and laughed at all the right jokes and wasn't known for his inability to be monogamous. He sighed.

_Maybe an angry one night stand killed him? _Click, click, click. The camera, capturing everything in sight. The things his eyes were missing. After his and Ziva's undercover assignment he had really gained a respect for pictures. He hadn't realized his own eyes could betray him. Other things, yeah. Whatever. Not the time or place for dwelling. _Time to shoot the body?_

"_DiNozzo!_" Gibbs's angry voice. Tony turned in confusion. _Have I really fucked up that badly already today? I mean geez . . . I guess I've been teasing Tim a bit too much with the cupcakes . . . _

"Boss?"

"You care to explain to me why the _fuck_ you name is carved on our victim's chest?"

Hmmm. This probably beat cupcakes.

* * *

Ducky's day had been going pretty well. His mother was feeling better than usual. He had awoken early and felt particularly energised. He always loved that feeling; when you woke up and you really _woke up_. Just fully ready to spring in and _enjoy_ life. He remembered unhappy high school days where he never could get enough sleep and always woke up feeling tired, even on the weekends and holidays.

Medicine had taught him that the human body was a delicate thing; it needed such a precarious balance to be good. Sure, it could _survive_ amazing things but it couldn't _thrive_ amazing things. Too much water led to water poisoning. Too little dehydration. A few percent points difference in oxygen levels could be the different between life and death.

He marvelled that all med students didn't lose their heads thinking about it. That was why he preferred the already dead. No widows and orphans asking we he screwed up. So he enjoyed his job. Yes, the day was shaping up _quite_ well. He had even gone to the quaint little coffee shop down the street and had one of those delicious muffins he liked so much.

Then he got _another _corpse involving Tony DiNozzo and murder and his day wasn't so good anymore.

"I suppose we can just recycle the list from last time?" he asked as Gibbs swaggered in. Gibbs frowned.

"We need to know why someone's after Tony." Gibbs was tough, sure. But he cared about his team. And everyone knew that.

"You know I'll do everything I can for young Anthony," Ducky said firmly. "Now, Mr. Palmer and I are going to start in on this poor marine. You, sir, did not enjoy good last moments did you? Dear, dear. . ."

Gibbs left. He couldn't stand to stay there, but he couldn't imagine going back to work. He couldn't imagine keeping _still_. Tony, Tony, Tony, getting into stupid messes and doing stupid things . . . he frowned and continued stalking the halls, perhaps with even more vigour. What to do? He didn't want to _fire_ Tony certainly, but he didn't know what to do with him otherwise.

He couldn't get into trouble like this, it just wasn't going to work. He checked turned a corner with near violent force, frightening an intern. Papers fluttered and he ignored them. Let Vasshole yell at him later. God, he hated that man. Stupid Vance. Jenny did everything better. This place was really going downhill in her absence; she would have been so ashamed.

His cheeks burned and he wished he could make things better for her memory. He wanted to _fix_ it. But he couldn't, and it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. Every time he took something good, he destroyed it. So it was better that he work with bad things, things that couldn't get messed up anymore than they already were. He broke his family. He broke everything. . .

Jesus, but did Tony have a death wish or something? Because this was the second time he'd been involved in a murder. Why did he have to go around pissing people off all the time? Didn't he realise these were possible grounds for getting fired? He growled and tried to fight off the more tempting emotion of concern. Because really, this wasn't about _framing_ Tony. No, this was about someone (someones? Could there be more than one perp? It wouldn't be _improbable_ with Tony . . .) wanted to send a message. Someone was angry at Tony. An ex-girlfriend? Stupid Tony! How was he supposed to keep him safe?

Gibbs left the building and got into his car, turning up the radio until it hurt. He took off, taking 495 to Washington. The beltway was clear for once, hardly a car in sight. A few buses and trucks, but he adeptly avoided them, weaving at ninety miles an hour and hoping no cops would pull him over and demand an explanation. As he got into the city he drove more slowly, past the old monuments and memorials. Whispers of marble and dead men echoed in his head, mangling with the bass boom of a CD Abby had made for him sometime ago that he had only listened to once before, deciding there was too much screaming for his tastes.

But now it was good, dulling his senses and making things fade. He needed that now. He was worried about his senior agent, worried about what was going to happen. How had they ended up in this mess? He really didn't have any desire to interrogate Tony again. He needed a plan to deal with Vance too. Vance was a class-A asshole and a newbie; a toxic combination to keeping Tony's head above water. They would need to go over every clue, get into DiNozzo's head and find out who knew about his job, who would target him with other people's murders. Gibbs reluctantly slowed down as he realised he was speeding again.

He stopped by the Lincoln memorial and reclined his seat. The October sun was high in the sky and it was still warm enough for him to roll down the windows. He could hear children shrieking on their fourth-grade field trip. _Kelly. _He grimaced. Couldn't focus on bad memories right now. Too many other things he had to be thinking about. _What to do with Tony?_ He didn't feel like talking to Vance, and Jenny wasn't there to make it all better. _Jenny_. Jenny, who could have been. What almost was, so tangible and fragrant and beautiful . . . he closed his eyes and tried to remember her smell.

* * *

She was staring. And it was rude, and she shouldn't be doing it, but she was. Ziva was blatantly staring at Tony, trying to map out the thoughts in his head and the canals of his veins and arteries and the little electrified synapses of his brain. And what, _what_ was going on? Really, not knowing was driving her mad. Why was there a dead man with _Anthony DiNozzo_ carved into his chest?What had Tony one to piss someone off? What secrets was he keeping?

Because she knew, she _knew_ he was keeping secrets from her. Tony was always full of secrets, always full of things left unsaid. And she saw through the mask. She took it at face value because she didn't know what else to do, but she saw that he cracked jokes to keep them from asking too many questions and he laughed without his eyes.

And now someone was dead again and everything was crazy and she hoped that it would all be okay because as scary as it was when Tony was framed it was even scarier now that someone was so _forward _with their intent and Tony was in _danger_. Was there anything she could have done differently, any way she could have helped him? If only Tony would talk to her! Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Because she remembered, remembered all too well last Christmas. . .

It snowed that night. Having lived in sunny Israel, American snow never ceased to fascinate her. She stayed up late, watching the flakes fall down while Hanukah songs played in soft Hebrew and Yiddish melodies from her iPod. It was dark and still and wonderful out, perfectly perfect. Quiet. All the voices that rang in her head all day between Gibbs and Tony and Abby were gone, put to bed with the office.

She was drinking tea, alone. She had been offered a date, but turned it down. The guy at the bar had been nice, but he wasn't Tony. And Tony was the one she wanted, the one person she couldn't have. So she sat there staring into the night, letting the images of the day and other memories drift through her head. She remembered Hanukahs past, with her family. Maybe she would have another dinner party, invite everyone to join her. It would be nice to have Tony here again . . .

It must have been around midnight when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to go out into the cold and take it all in. Maybe it was being cooped up so long, alone with only her thoughts and ghosts. Maybe it was just something about the night. Didn't matter, really though. She pulled on her boots and coat and left, closing the door quietly behind herself.

It was cold outside; she almost went back in, but changed her mind and headed into the garden for the apartment complex. The snow crunched softly under her feet, the moon high and bright behind the cloud. She stood in the garden, head tilted back as she let the soft cool flakes fall down and kiss her face.

It made her think of Tali, for some reason or another. She _missed_ her. She wished she could share everything with her sister – the dark night, the cool air, how she felt about Tony . . . she shivered in the dark and pushed her long wet hair away, opening her eyes. She needed her sister. She needed someone to share things with.

She needed Tony.

Ziva didn't sleep well that night. She kept feeling lonely and haunted, desperate for company. She berated herself for not accepting that date and ended up spending most of the night cleaning her house. It was something she did when she couldn't sleep, useful mindless work. When dawn broke she took a long hot shower and picked up a couple of over caffeinated coffees in lieu of breakfast. She could eat at lunch; right now she needed to unadulterated caffeine in her veins. She drove more slowly that morning and smiled bittersweetly thinking of Tony's running commentary on her driving. _Maybe one day I can make an exception for you._

The office was dark and quiet when she entered but her mind was humming excitedly with work to be done. Numbers to call, research to do, people to interview, files to review. So many distractions! No thinking about Tony. No thinking about Tali. No thinking about lonely holidays. She would work through Christmas, maybe. The office was always in a snit then. So many corpses, so few workers. She would be perfect, a Jewish girl without family willing to work Christmas day, because murders didn't stop simply because it was the season.

She sat down at her desk and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the computer to start up. It hummed and dinged and just as she was getting to typing her password Tony stormed in as though on fire. He aggressively swerved around his desk, pulling a clean shirt from the file cabinet. Dumbfounded, she just watched as he began to undress, either not noticing her or not caring what she saw.

It was unlike him. But then he _had _been acting strangely lately, jumpy and easily irritated. He avoided questions and isolated himself. Truthfully, she was starting to become a bit worried about her partner. Something just seemed . . . wrong. _You're making a big deal out of nothing. Probably family holiday stress, _she chided herself. She was almost prepared to just turn back to work (staring was rude!) but then the last layer came off and everything changed.

The mural of his stomach was a bad modern art painting, all sorts of ugly greens and sickening yellows of fading wounds mixing with new ones, more horrific in grey and purple and blue and red. Forget civility; she started. Ziva stared at him, in horror and in wonder. Like all human injuries; couldn't look away and couldn't stand to see it. Her eyes bulged and she was choking on something caught in the back of her throat, something between a scream and the urge to vomit. Someone . . . some_thing_ had hurt Tony. Something had hurt _her_ Tony. She could almost hear the crescendo whistle of her blood boiling in her veins. _How dare . . .?!? _She couldn't help herself.

"What _happened_?" she asked, flying across the room and flinging herself at him. She kneeled in from of him, her breath hot on his stomach. She reached out and touched the affected area tentatively, worried that she would further harm him. The flesh rippled under her fingers and he stumbled back, wincing.

"Kickboxing class," he mumbled, taking her wrist and pushing it back towards her. Ziva looked up at him through her eyelashes in confusion. _Kickboxing class? _Incredible. She didn't believe him for one second. No instructor worth his money would let one student beat another up like that. Plus the shape wasn't consistent with a foot or a fist. More straight, like, like . . . like a fire poker.

A million questions were exploding between her ears now. Who was hurting Tony? Why? Was he in trouble? Could she help? Why hadn't he defended himself? Why was he excusing whoever did this? Why wouldn't he tell her what had happened? Weren't they partners? Wasn't he supposed to _trust_ her?

She stood and opened her mouth to speak, furious. Did Tony _really_ think he could get away with not saying anything? Ha! She was Ziva David, Israeli Mossad assassin liaison to USNCIS. She was not going to be intimidated by him. She was not going to walk away without answers. This was what she did for a living, dammit. As nothing more than partners, Tony owed her more of an explanation.

But she saw his eyes as she was preparing to say those things and she saw _fear_. Primeval fear, fear for one's life. So she couldn't say anything, couldn't voice any of the questions in her head. He was trying to be so strong, trying to be tough. There was anger, yes. But more important was the fear, because honestly the fear scared _her_. Because she didn't know what Tony could be afraid of. And she didn't know why he looked so weak and vulnerable suddenly, with that undercurrent of . . . was that _shame_ she saw? Shame. Why shame? What was Tony ashamed of? Why couldn't she make it all good, make it all better?

She mutely returned to her desk, ears burning. Something Tony was ashamed of. Something he wouldn't tell her about. Something she couldn't fix. And worst of all, something she was afraid would kill him. Last Christmas. Christmas of questions. . .

She sighed, the image of the body blurring in front of her. She couldn't pluck any strings connecting the marine to Tony. The killing seemed completely random, as though the killer was just going to get at Tony by whatever means possible. Ziva shivered slightly even though the room was warm. A random killer . . . dangerous.

This wasn't any sort of reasonable person they were dealing it. She dared to steal a glance at Tony. He seemed to be taking things in stride. But he was always like that, wasn't he? It probably had nothing to do with last Christmas. Honestly, she needed to put this overactive imagination to bed. It clearly wasn't doing anything her or this case any good.

"I have something!" Abby said, cheerily dashing into the office. Tony grinned and Ziva relaxed just a little. If Abby was happy, it was good news.

"Talk to me, Abs," Tony said, leaning back in his seat. McGee moved forward, leaning into the conversation.

"Well!" Abby said, looking around in pleasure at her audience. "I know the killer is a woman."

"There's DNA?" Tony asked, nearly lunging out of his seat. Abby shook her head somewhat sadly.

"Well, no. But I found a chip of nail polish." She pressed a button on the remote and a light coral colour showed. "You know anyone who wears Reeftastic?"

The look on Tony's face could only be described as ashen.

* * *

_"You were out late," Katrina said as he came into the apartment. She sat on the sofa, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her petite figure was drowning in his sweatshirt but her eyes revealed overwhelming anger. Tony shrugged and put his brief case on the table. _

_"Work, you know?" he said, heading into the kitchen. She scrambled off the sofa, nearly tripping as she followed him. He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was tense, all hunched muscles narrowed eyes. Great. "Look, I'm sorry babe. I couldn't help it. Want a beer?" he asked, trying to think of how best to soothe her. "You really didn't need to wait up for me all this time. You could have gone home."_

_"You were with her, weren't you?" Katrina hissed, knocking away the offered beer. Tony placed the bottles down on the counter and closed the refrigerator as she leaned in._

_"Who her? I don't know what you're talking about." He furrowed his brow, searching for anything incriminating. Really, he'd been trying so hard to be so good. For Jeanne._

_"That woman. At work. I see how you look at her, Tony. Did you really think you could keep it from me?" She was closer now, cornering him. _

_"Ziva? Aw, she's my partner, Kat." He tried to laugh but it sounded forced even to his own ears. _

_"Liar!" It all happened very fast then. He saw a flash of her coral nail polish and then felt the stinging slap. His head it the knob of the cabinet and he cried out, slumping. Katrina gasped and made some sort of strangled noise. _

_"Tony! Oh my god, Tony, I'm so sorry!" Her hands were all over him now, leading him to the sofa. Then she was pressing ice against his head and stroking his hair. "Look, baby, I just get jealous, okay? I'm just insecure. She's just very beautiful and you're so handsome and charming and funny and I can't understand why someone wouldn't try to hit on you, really baby. I just want you all to myself, okay? I don't want any whores hanging off you." Katrina kissed his forehead, her tiny fragile bird arms hugging his neck._

_"Yeah," he mumbled. She frowned and sighed._

_"Please, just wear something that isn't so tight, okay? I just don't want her looking at you," Katrina begged. Tony smiled weakly at her._

_"Yeah, we'll see what we can do. Hard to hide something this hot." Funny, his laughter still sounded rather forced._

_"You know I love you, baby. I really do." Only later would Tony realise that that was the first time he heard her say that. _


	3. II: Prey or Predator

II: Prey/Predator

_You belong to me_

_My Snow White Queen_

_There's no where to run_

_So let's just get it over with_

_Soon, I know you'll see _

_You're just like me_

_Don't scream any more, my Love_

_Because all I want is you_

_~ Evanescence, Snow White Queen_

"Abby, shouldn't we let Gibbs know about this?" Ziva asked, trying to fight the sick feeling she got looking at Tony. He looked as though he was going to puke at any second; he was all pale and clammy. Maybe they should get Ducky . . .

"Well, usually our psychic connection is working well enough so that he's here by now," Abby said. Ziva frowned and pulled out her cell phone. Gibbs would want to know about this. A female killer, with potential to be a serial killer. Unusual.

There would be sings, wouldn't there? She'd stick out. Something making her not fit in. They would find this woman. Ziva was looking forward to _personally_ locking her away. How dare she try to hurt her Tony – _No, not __**your**__ Tony silly girl. Snap out of it, Ziva, do your job or this won't even be an issue. _She pressed speed dial five.

"Gibbs."

"Abby got something," Ziva reported, glancing again at the screen. "Our killer is a woman."

"With Tony that'll add more names than it takes away," Gibbs grumbled. Ziva shrugged.

"Maybe not. If Tony was killed, maybe. But most women are not random killers like this. She should be difference, in some way," She argued. The line was quiet as Gibbs mulled this over.

"I'll be there soon. Tell Abby to keep running the evidence. Actually, all of you get back to work." Gibbs ordered. The line went dead and Ziva hung up.

"Well?" McGee asked, leaning towards her over his desk. Ziva replaced her phone in her pocket.

"Back to work. Keep running the evidence." She sat down at her computer. Tony was still staring off into space, looking absolutely lost. She frowned. "Tony? Are you alright?" she asked.

He opened his mouth and puked.

* * *

"I'm never eating at McDonald's ever again. I'm a Burger King boy from now on," Tony declared as he splashed cold water on his face. "Ugh. _Gross_." He rinsed his mouth and spat into the sink. The water kept running. He took another swig and dipped his head back, gargling. "I hate getting sick. You think anyone has any antacids? God, I hate it when you get it all in your nose and stuff."

"Are you sure it was bad chicken?" Ziva asked cautiously, handing him a towel. He wiped his face and gave her a sidelong look.

"Um, yes," he said in a tone that implied how little he thought of her question. She flushed and shrugged and angrily crossed her arms.

"I'm only saying you seemed fine until Abby came in with her evidence," Ziva accused. Tony stiffened and she inwardly growled. _Great job, Ziva. You managed to put him on the defensive. He's not going to give you anything now. He's just going to clam up and shut you out._

"Ziva, it was the chicken." He was trying to sound genuine, and she wanted to believe his explanation, she really did. But – she didn't.

"Tony. . ."

"It's nothing, Ziva, okay?" he shouted, glaring at her. "Just _drop it_. Just – just leave well enough alone. Chicken made me sick. Screw off."

Tony stalked off, unsure where he was going. Anywhere, he figured. He didn't want to be around Ziva with her sweet perfume and concerned words, not when everything was so bad and he was out of control and it was complicated. Because there was no reason, really, to think it was Katrina. She wouldn't – would she? He had never _really_ feared for his life with her . . . not really.

Sure, things had gone south with Katrina, but he'd come out alright. She was gone from his life now, banished forever. He'd made sure of that. He'd disappeared.

So why had she come back?

Maybe she was angry. He could understand that, sort of. He remembered how she was always angry, how everything was _so difficult _and she tried _so hard _to make everything _so perfect_. And he conceded that she really did. She made wonderful dinners almost every night and gave him massages and liked to buy him all sorts of gifts. After the fire poker she hit up her wealthy parents for money and bought him a watch that was dripping in jewels.

_"It's because I love you. You know that, don't you Tony? I love you so much. I just can't stand it when you hang around that awful woman. I know she's in love with you, Tony. I just want you to love me, if you could even though I'm a horrible person. I love __**you**__, Tony. We're so great together, you and I. And I'm really working on not getting so jealous_." And then she presented the watch, coming up behind him and latching it around his wrist. She had kissed his cheek, humming softly.

Looking back he wasn't sure how he had missed it. The way she would talk to him, her condescending tone. He was a cop, dammit. He should have seen what was happening, realized the pattern.

But he didn't. He was content to ride the wave. Or go under the wave, really. Dealing with Katrina was like swimming in the ocean. Sometimes you saw that big wave coming, and you _knew_ you couldn't out swim it. So you took a deep breath and plugged your nose and ducked under the wave, feeling the cold water rush around you and the blast of salt and sand and hoping, _hoping _that you would be okay and get through it.

And when you broke the surface everything was blurry and strange and too bright and salt was in your mouth and nose and eyes so when the next wave came, even it if it was smaller (and it never, ever seemed to be) you just ducked under again and repeated.

* * *

Gibbs hit the steering wheel and glared at the 495 traffic. Bethesda always seemed to have an out flux of a few hundred people, no matter what time of day it was. But he needed to be at the office. Needed Abby's analysis. Needed to _fix_ this and solve this and make it all go away and be done with.

He turned the music even louder and thought again that it was a good thing he already knew sign language, because at this rate it would be the _only_ language he could use.

He didn't want to put Tony in interrogation, but he would do it if he had to. NCIS had to come first. Of he'd try to protect DiNozzo if he came forth with something, but if he didn't he'd have to force it out of him.

Ziva had said that their killer was a probably a woman. Begrudgingly, he admitted that it probably would narrow down the list. There weren't a number of women who became killers. Not systematically, anyway. Women committed crimes of passion more often. Killed their lovers in a jealous rage, didn't play with tricks with corpses.

He wondered how the killer knew DiNozzo would be assigned to the case. Or maybe she didn't care, it just mattered that she got Tony's name out there, associated with the crime. But then why target a marine specifically if it didn't matter whether Tony was on case or not?

Was it a warning then? Would the killer be coming after Tony eventually? He couldn't rule out the possibility. Perhaps he needed to arrange to Tony to spend a few nights somewhere else. There was no sense in putting him in the line of danger unnecessarily.

He sped up as the traffic relented at last. _Finally_. He was eager to get back to base. There were a million things that needed to be done and none of them would get done if he didn't get back and whip his people into action.

He parked quickly, messily really but he didn't care. Too many things to do to worry about a stupid parking job. He burst through the doors, causing frightened interns to scatter. He supposed the story of the young woman he'd bumped into earlier had spread throughout the building by now.

"Gibbs!" Abby threw herself at him. Startled, he hugged her back confusedly. "Oh Gibbs, I'm so glad you're alright!"

"Why wouldn't I be? Is everything ok?" he asked, pulling away and looking at her. Abby blushed and nodded.

"Yeah, everyone's fine, I mean, just this thing with Tony again – it's just bad, you know?" she said, her dark eyes big and worried like a little girl's. He kissed her forehead and patted her back.

"Everything is going to be just fine. Now hit me with that evidence Ziva said you got for me." Abby perked visibly.

"Will do! So when Ducky and I were processing the body, we found some light coral nail polish flecks in the wounds on the victim's chest and we got some skin from under the vic's nails, but I'm still running the system to see if there's even enough DNA to process. But we know our killer is a woman!" Abby declared cheerily.

"Do we have a list of suspects yet?"

"Well, no. But we're working on it. Tony and Ziva are complying it. Except Tony's sick, so it's taking a little while. But it's okay, because Ziva's taking care of him." Gibbs frowned.

"What do you mean DiNozzo's sick?" he questioned sharply. Abby shrugged.

"He threw up after I showed him the evidence – Gibbs, I don't think Tony has anything to do with this! I mean, it would be pretty stupid of him to carve his name into the victim's chest, wouldn't it? Right?" Panic was rising in her voice and Gibbs held up a hand to silence her.

"I'm more worried about poison right now, Abs," he said quietly. "McGee!" The youngest agent looked up at the sound of his name.

"Boss?"

"Find David and DiNozzo and get Ducky to check out DiNozzo. Make sure he's not being poisoned." He would not have an agent die under his nose, not so soon after he missed it with that suspect.

"Right. I'll do that. Now." McGee flew from the bullpen. Gibbs took a deep breath. _Focus, Lee._

"Come on Abby, we have work to do."

* * *

He would never, _ever_ admit it, but he was freaking out. Katrina wasn't a professional criminal; it would only be a matter of time before Abby something damning. He needed a cover story. He needed it _now_.

Because he wouldn't, _couldn't_ tell them the truth. Too much . . . too bad. He was not going to let them know. He would come up with something else. Now, what could he say that they would all believe and that the evidence would support? If only he knew what she had _done_. . . .

No. He could tell them . . . the truth. Or something very similar. He had a crazy ex-girlfriend. It was perfectly believable; it was even true, wasn't it? He exhaled. There now, he could relax a little bit for the first time since this whole mess had started.

He would answer their questions in stride, even Gibbs's. And besides, maybe it wasn't Katrina anyway. He'd dated plenty of women, slept with even more, interacted with still more. There was no reason that two might not wear the same colour of nail polish.

"Hey, Abby, I think I might have an idea about who could have done this," Tony said, pushing the door open into her lab. Give them a bone and they wouldn't ask too many questions. Just pretend everything was okay. It was ok to almost drown, because that still meant that he wasn't dead yet. Abby gave him a huge grin as she looked up from her various monitors.

"Yay! Don't worry Tony, we're going to get the bitch," she promised, clicking buttons and switching screens. He didn't pretend to have the slightest clue about any of it. "Hit me."

"Katrina Hansdotter." He swallowed and fought the threatening tremor in his voice.

"Alright. . . I'm typing it in . . ." Abby bit her lip and squinted at the monitor. "I don't like this. She's got two prior charges for violent assault." She was staring at him with those big little girl eyes. God, concern was going to be the death of him.

"I think I'll be ok." _She can't possibly know where I live now, not after I worked so hard to lose her. _

"We need to talk to Gibbs." And before he knew it she was calling Gibbs and he felt himself drifting, trying to ride out the wave. But he was under again, drowning again. This was a mistake, he shouldn't have tried to help with the case, all this was going to do was get him in trouble, bring up a whole bunch of things he didn't want to talk about with them. He didn't need their pity; it was all over now anyway and he was _fine_.

He wasn't mentally scarred, he wasn't going to drink himself to death or do anything else involving the use of the phrase "drowning the hidden pain". And he _certainly_ did not need to spend the rest of his career at NCIS being treated like some sort of delicate flower. He just needed for the whole thing to be left well enough alone.

He was going to stop Abby, but soon she was dragging him towards the bullpen. He allowed himself to be pulled along trying to come up with more lies. He didn't enjoy lying to the team, but it was really better this way. Besides, it wasn't as if he was on trial. It wasn't against the law to lie. And such little white lies too . . . and he was fine, so there was no reason to get everyone all worked up.

"We have a name!" Abby shouted, letting go of Tony's wrist as they got to bullpen. "Gibbs, Tony thinks he might know who could have done this!"

"Yeah?" Gibbs approached them with a neutral expression, not wanting to have the celebrations just yet. Tony swallowed. He felt _guilty_ lying to Abby; he felt _scared_ lying to Gibbs. _Calm down. You can get through this too. You got through everything when it was actually happening, didn't you? Gibbs never has to know. None of them do._

"An ex-girlfriend. Katrina Hansdotter," he reported. Gibbs glanced at Tony. His eyes trained on him and Tony met it with a steady gaze of his own, tensing every muscle in his body. Finally Gibbs broke it, turning to Abby. Only seconds could have passed, but to Tony it felt like hours.

"What do we know about her?" Gibbs was facing Abby but he couldn't help but look back at Tony. God, he looked a mess. Something wasn't right.

"She has two prior charges for violent assault, Gibbs! I don't want her coming after Tony. Is he going to be safe?" There was a pause as everyone turned to look at Tony, staring off into space absent-mindedly. _He hasn't made a movie reference all day_, Gibbs realized.

"Find somewhere else to sleep tonight, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered. Tony looked up, startled.

"What?"

"I don't want you in that apartment tonight. Sleep somewhere else. Sleep at Ziva's." Yes, that was actually perfect. Ziva would be able to keep him in line.

"But Boss – "

"_Ziva_, will this be a problem?" he interrupted. She shook her head.

"Not at all."

"So the issue is settled."

"Not even close! I'm a grown man. I do not need a babysitter!" Tony protested. What was Gibbs's _problem_?

"She's not a babysitter, she's a bodyguard. I'm trying to keep you alive, DiNozzo." His voice was quiet and it was strange, worse than it would have been if he'd yelled. DiNozzo's reaction was all the confirmation Gibbs needed that this was the right decision. Even if Tony refused to admit it, Gibbs could see the fear. Tony believed that this woman was at least capable of killing _someone_. It was only a few steps to killing him. So he couldn't stay.

"Fine," Tony grumbled. He had to keep a better hold of his reactions. Gibbs had to stay out of the loop. He needed to keep in it check. Already, Gibbs was seeing more than Tony wanted him to. _Deep breathe. _"Looks like we'll be sharing a bed again, Zee-vah." He flashed a grin and wraggled his eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Paperclips, Tony," she reminded him, holding one up. She focused back in on her computer screen, hoping that she wasn't blushing even though she felt her cheeks growing hot.

Alright, so she was a little excited about the prospect of having Tony over. So what. She wasn't going to just jump him the moment they walked in the door or anything. He didn't seem too thrilled anyway. Too bad it wasn't under better circumstances. She hoped everything would go smoothly; he didn't seem to be doing so well under the pressure.

"Are you sure you're not sending me from one funeral to another?" Tony asked, looking up at Gibbs. The Boss glanced at Ziva.

"Save a paperclip for me." He walked away, off to do . . . well, whatever it was exactly that Gibbs did when he wasn't ordering them around. Tony sighed and collapsed back into his chair.

"He treats you and Abby better. I should sue for sexism," he said, glaring at Ziva. She smiled innocently and quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, but we are going to have such fun, Tony!" she cackled. He raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm up for all kinds of fun," he challenged. She huffed and returned ever furiously to her computer screen. One point for DiNozzo.

_That's it. Better_. He had to look at this from a different angle; tonight could even be fun. He'd been wanting to spend time with Ziva anyway. Maybe not under circumstances like this, but still. They could order pizza, watch a movie, get a little drunk even. Yeah, this could be alright. Besides, how long had it been since he'd had a nice warm body to curl up against? And Ziva . . . Ziva, Ziva, Ziva. This could be alright.

* * *

She didn't know why she'd done it, and she didn't really even know how. But she'd killed that marine, and she wasn't sorry. He was a prick, trying to coddle her into sleeping with him. But she would be won over, not that easily. Oh no.

She half-remembered carving _Anthony DiNozzo _into his chest. Yeah, it was kind of stupid. Oh well. Sweet Tony would never tell. Really, she still had all the power. Stupid Navy and Marines. Ruined her. Ruined everything. That was okay. She would kill the bitch and he'd love her again, maybe. Or maybe she should just kill him. But did it even really matter? Maybe she ought to just kill them both.


	4. III: Orpheus and Eurydice

III: Orpheus and Eurydice

* * *

_Restitit__ Eurydicenque suam iam luce sub ipsa - _

_immemor heu! victusque animi respexit. ibi omnis_

_effusus__labor atque immitis rupta tyranni_

_foedera, terque fragor stagnis auditus Avernis__._

_illa, "quis et me," inquit, "miseram et te perdidit, Orpheu,_

_quis tantus furor?"_

_He stopped, and Eurydice did too, the sunlight now touching just her face; _

_But alas, he seemed to forget – and so weakened in his resolve, he looked back. _

_Then all his labour slipped away as he broke all those pacts he had made with the King of Hell. _

_Three times, there was the sound of thunder in the stagnant pools of Avernus. Then she finally spoke: _

"_Oh Orpheus, what great madness has destroyed both you and wretched me?" _

~ From Vergil's _Georgics_, Book 4, lines 493 – 497

* * *

They kept the radio on so they wouldn't have to talk. Ziva drove, and Tony didn't make a single comment the entire ride much to her shock. _He must be really out of it_, she concluded, stealing worried glances at him during red lights. She wished he would just say something and prove to her that everything was alright. She felt tense during the entire ride, and suspected that before too long she'd have a migraine. _Great_.

Tony was looking out the window, but he didn't really _see_ anything. It all blurred before his eyes. He closed them. Too much. Drifting. . . he liked to pretend, sometimes.

Fine, a lot of the –

Okay, _most _of the time.

Not that he could imagine what sort of circumstances would have to come into being such that he would admit it. He very fervently denied that he lived in a fantasy world. Even though he was fairly certain he received mail there. But he had to pretend. And it was nice, because at this point he was such a good liar he could even trick _himself_ sometimes.

Like right now, he was pretending that there was no Katrina, just he would pretend during the day other things. He would pretend staring across the cubicles at Ziva, imagining that she was thinking about what they would make for dinner that night and what movie they would watch at _their_ apartment. Sometimes he thought about Ziva and sex, but he refrained, wanting the real thing too much to sully it with mere fantasy. Which he supposed proved just how crazy he was. Not that it really stopped him.

He wondered what her skin tasted like, how she smelled in the mornings with no teasing perfumes. He wondered what her mouth tasted like when she hadn't been chewing gum for five hours, knowing they would kiss. Because undercover had been fun, but it hadn't really been _real_. He wondered what the contours of her body, her _entire_ body, felt like. At times like that he would step out of his body and wonder just what was happening. Because falling in love, _really_ falling in love was messy and complicated and scary and god, just look what it had done to _Gibbs_, twisting him and making him mean.

To need someone that much . . . and what if he lost it? They didn't have the safest jobs in the world. Or what if she didn't want him? Too much. Safer to find comfort in other hands. Relationships . . . frightening . . . why had he agreed to spend the night at her house?

But he remembered things. Remembered undercover, little comments she made. Sometimes he looked at her and imagined he knew _exactly_ where to touch to make her bite his shoulder and scream. And oh, how he would relish it! He'd wear the marks as a badge of honour and as a warning: Ziva David was _his_.

"Tony? Tony?" He blinked as she waved her hand in front of his face.

"What . . .?"

"We have arrived. You can get out of the car now," she said. He could read the conflict on her face she struggled not to reveal how worried she was. _I've done that to her_, he thought angrily. God, he was stupid sometimes.

"Thanks." He grinned and gathered his things from the trunk, then followed her into the apartment. She dumped her bag on the table and looked back as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"You can put your things in the bedroom," she told him. He grinned even harder.

"So you came to your senses and decided to have the DiNozzo Experience?" he teased, laughing at her look.

"Yes. The Mossad is looking for torture tests to help pick out the strongest agents," she returned. He rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'm already disrupting your life enough, Ziva. I'll take the couch," he volunteered, placing his bag down. She picked it right back up again.

"Use the bed, Tony."

"Ziva." He blocked her entrance. "I can't let you do that."

"Of course you can. It is very easy, actually. Besides, you have had a long day and I would not wish to stress you more by forcing you onto the couch," she insisted.

"Well, I'm not sleeping in the bed."

"You are being ridiculous, Tony. I am not sleeping there either."

"Fine. You take the couch and I will take the floor."

"I am _not_ going to let you sleep on the floor!"

And that was how an hour later they ended up with Israeli takeout (ah, the wonder of living in Washington DC!) on the floor, watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

Ziva poked her falafel and sighed, finally giving up. She leaned against the couch. It had been a long day, and at this point she wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and sleep. Tony exhaled beside her as Holly Golightly tumbled out of a taxi, searching for Cat.

"This is the best part," Tony said, smiling eagerly. She glanced sidelong at him. He was so cute, engrossed in his movie. She laughed quietly and wished she could lie down in his lap and feel his arms around her. . . _Bad Ziva! Control yourself._

"They are cute," she conceded, pulling the blanket up to her neck.

"Yeah." The perfect romantic climax: pouring rain, the famous kiss. They both inhaled a bit, and then they were looking at each other.

She was staring in his eyes, ethereal in the lowlight. He wanted to meld with her. He wanted to listen to her soft gasps and screams as they wrestled on the floor. And he wanted to forget. He wanted to eradicate Katrina and all bad things from his memory. He wanted to fall into something and not crawl out. He wanted to be drowned, completely. He could hardly control himself anymore. Not now. Not like this. Not with her so close.

The moonlight was veiled over his face and his hair was falling into his tired eyes. He was looking at her longingly, achingly. And she couldn't help herself because she wanted it. She wanted him. And she wanted it _so much_. And he was just _so close . . . _

"Ziva?" He was whispering, and he was so close that she could feel his hot ragged breath on her lips.

"Yes?" She hardly dared to breath. That was fine; her breath was hitching in throat anyway as her heartbeat sped up exponentially.

"I'm sorry about this."

And then he was kissing her.

_Adonai, _he was _kissing _her and – !

"_Tony," _she breathed into his mouth. He moaned against her, holding her close, clutching her to him as if afraid that she would run away. His lips moved against hers, soft and warm. And then he was pushing her back, aggressively although not painfully and his tongue was in her mouth.

She was so warm, and so perfect, and this was exactly what he needed. _Don't leave me, Ziva_, he silently begged. He pressed himself against her harder as he heard a soft sound rise out of the back of her throat.

And she could feel every contour of his body, and she wanted this _so much_, but she couldn't, she couldn't . . .

"Ziva . . . I . . ." He pulled away and looked at her. Her eyes were bright in the TV's glare, and the moonlight juxtaposed it just so and she was so, so beautiful. He didn't have words. He didn't want to explain. He just wanted to disappear inside himself and not resurface for a long, long time. And so he attacked her again, pinning her down and closing her in so she wouldn't run away. He _needed_ her.

"Tony." He wasn't listening to her. Searing kisses, kisses that trapped her. "Tony . . ." More urgently, but he kept ignoring her. Or no, he was holding her in place. _I'm sorry._ "Not now, Tony," she said, turning her face from him even as he grabbed it to hold her in place.

She brought up her hands and he grabbed her wrists. Her wrists, which suddenly looked small and delicate in his big hands. She eyed it for a minute and then looked at his sad, lost eyes. _He's just sad and scared and stressed,_ she thought empathetically. And she almost leaned in again, but restrained herself. Wrong time. Maybe later, when everything was over. "You need to let go of me," she said sternly. And he did, but only to fall on top of her and bury his face in her shoulder.

"I missed you best," he muttered. "Don't ever leave again Ziva, okay?"

"What?" She had totally lost the conversation. He leaned in and kissed her again, a hard bruising kiss that hurt. She started to struggle but he backed off again. He made a strangled noise and she felt an overwhelming pity for him.

"Just stay in America," he muttered. She tentatively smoothed his hair. She was about to shoot off some sarcastic comment about job security, but refrained. He sounded like he was about eight.

"You need to sleep, Tony." _We both do. _She ruffled his hair.

"What are you doing?"

"Sometimes it makes you smile," she quipped. It sounded like he laughed, but she wasn't really sure. "Come on. Go to bed."

"I'm comfortable right here," he murmured. She sighed. _So long since the warmth of another human body. . . _

"I know, Tony. Just sleep. You need your rest," she soothed. He wrapped his arms around her. "_Tony. . ._"

"Stay with me. Please," he said, not meeting her eye. Another sigh. A slight smile.

"_Bien sûr_," she laughed. He groaned.

"Ziva I don't speak Hebrew, you know that."

"That was French, Tony. It means 'of course'."

"Ziva I don't speak French either." But this time he didn't have as much push in his words, and with her so close he seemed to finally be dropping off to sleep. And even though she was _certain_ she did not want to sleep with him, she ended up drifting off, nose buried in the crook of his neck. And she would tell herself it was because she wanted to make sure he was okay, but she was happy for his warmth.

* * *

_Pain exploded from the back of his head. He was on the floor, and he didn't remember how he had gotten there. Katrina stood over him, her long blond hair hanging over his face. He blinked and noticed the book in her hand._

_"Don't talk to her, do you hear me? You come home, you come to me, you don't talk to her. No more calls from the bitch. You belong to me, do you understand?" she demanded, grabbing his face and pulling forward to make sure he was looking her in the eye._

_"Katrina . . ." God, why didn't anything in his head make any sense? The words couldn't get from his head into his mouth._

_"You don't want anyone else, Tony." She leaned down, kissing his lips sweetly. "My pretty boy. Shh." She stroked his hair, sitting on his lap. And somewhere along the way his head stopped hurting and he somehow forget the book in her hand. "Sweet Tony . . . you belong to me."_

* * *

"Ziva. . ." She awoke to the sound of her name. "Ziva . . ." More frantic now. _Wake up, Ziva. Pay attention . . . _"Ziva!" She shot up and flew to Tony, thrashing to her right.

"Tony! Tony, wake up. It is only a dream, Tony!" she said urgently, shaking him. He sat up, nearly colliding into her. He stared at her with wide eyes and she tentatively took his hand, awkwardly stroking the back of his palm.

"Sorry," he said, looking down at their hands. God, he felt absurd. Couldn't do anything right lately. He had practically attacked her earlier that night, he was having stupid nightmares now . . . what was _wrong _with him tonight? _Katrina_. NO! There was nothing wrong. Katrina had not affected him in any way whatsoever. He refused to believe that.

"It is fine," she soothed. "Do you wish to . . . discuss it?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No. I'm good," he said gruffly. "Just. . ." He leaned in again, but didn't kiss her. Now he hesitated, waiting for her permission. She paused, looking into his eyes. He looked terrible. A real wreck.

What could she do? She had wanted Tony for so long. And she needed him, even. And now she was conflicted, because as part of her protested that she didn't want this like this, the other part was looking into his scared, sad eyes and seeing him needing her and needing desperately to answer that. And she found that the decision wasn't that hard to make. _Perhaps better once than never,_ she thought bittersweetly.

"Come here." She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him softly. He groaned against her, his hands going to her clothes.

"Are you . . ."

"It's okay," she confirmed, helping him pull off his shirt.

"Okay." It was happening so quickly. Her head was spinning a little bit. She allowed him to push her back again. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, tracing patterns on hers. He nipped her lips and she pulled him just a little closer to her.

They broke apart just long enough to pull her shirt off and she felt his warm, calloused hands rubbing her breasts. She dug her nails into his back a little and flipped, pressing their tongues into his mouth now and running her hands over his chest and stomach, tracing the lines of muscle in his stomach. His hands were on her back, now dipping farther down, just under the waistband of her pants. Not too far. Asking her permission.

She relaxed and allowed him to pull himself up over her again. And slowly the rest of their clothes were coming off. He met her eyes, and she nodded. Then he was inside her. She shifted under him, balancing their weight and barely having time to do anything before he was off. She wrapped her legs around his waist and closed her eyes, riding out the waves, accepting his grief and fear into her body and trying _so hard_ to pull it all away from him, make it okay. She bit his shoulder and pulled him close, screaming as it crashed over her.

"_My Ziva,_" he whispered, his mouth next to her ear. Their hips rollicked and collided over and over and finally they were down again, breathing hard. He buried his head in her shoulder, kissing her neck and finally biting her shoulder.

"Tony?"

"My Ziva." He pressed his forehead to hers and she inhaled his sweet scent. He kissed her roughly and when she felt the slight dampness on her face she realized with a start that he was crying.

"Tony. . ." she tried to push away to talk but he sighed and rolled off her, curling in a ball into her side. She wanted to say something, but the words didn't come and he felt like wet now. She compliantly put her arms around him and kissed his forehead. He pressed his face into her chest and she stroked his hair.

"Ziva . . ."

"Just sleep now," she whispered.

"Okay." And he was sleeping, his breath warm on her skin.

* * *

Katrina rolled out of his arms and slipped out of the bed. She pulled on her dress and left in silence. Another nameless one-night stand, another walk of shame. That was okay. She didn't need him or anyone to make her whole. She was fine, fine, fine.

She stumbled in her heels down the elevator and then stood awkwardly in the metro station, thinking unhappily of her mussed hair and makeup. _I probably smell like sex_, she mused. There were two men on deck, both looking her up and down. She sighed in annoyance. Could they not keep it in their pants for more than five seconds? The radical feminists really knew what they were saying, in her opinion. All men were rapists just waiting to transform.

"Hey baby . . ." He was leering at her with big lips and eyes. She wondered why men thought that because she was short and skinny she was incapable of anything. _Asshole._

"Fuck off," she ordered, glaring at him. He snorted and brushed her shoulder.

"Now is that anyway to treat a gentleman? We're just talking baby, just talking aren't we?" She hated frat boys. She glared at the other man, mindlessly listening to his iPod. That was how men were, all in it together. IPod ought to be defending her from Frat here. It just made her blood _boil_.

"If you don't fuck off I'll make you," she hissed threateningly. He laughed. _He laughed_. Later, Katrina would swear she saw a flash of blood. At the moment, all she could think about was the white-hot anger creeping over her. _"Die!_" she screamed. He howled as she tasered him, cackling as he twitched on the ground. "You want to fuck with me? This is how you fuck with me! Don't fuck with me, asswipe. _Fuck off!" _IPod was staring at her in horror.

"Hey! Hey, what's the trouble here?" he asked, running over. She turned and pulled out her gun. _They're like roaches. They just won't go away_, she thought angrily. She pointed the gun at him. He held his hands up and she heard Frat groan on the ground.

"You'll leave me alone," she demanded. IPod nodded mutely as the train pulled over. Katrina put the gun back in her purse and boarded the metro. Tony was a frat boy, she remembered. And he was just like the rest of them, a useless asshole.

Steel flashed in her eyes and she began to ponder how she could find him again. It seemed a shame to have been disposed of so after she'd spent so long re-training him. She didn't particularly wish to kill him. She would, maybe. But maybe she could just kill the bitch. It would be nice to have something regular again. She was tired to trying to train these beasts. Hmm. Kill the girl. Kill Tony. Whatever. Now that there was already blood on her hands, it didn't seem so bad or scary at all. As a matter of fact, she felt quite free.

* * *

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hansdotter," Gibbs said. The young man nodded. He was slender, but there was visible muscle definition. Short dark brown hair. Green eyes and glasses. Jumpy, kind of nervous.

"Adam. Adam is fine," he said. Gibbs nodded.

"Adam," he confirmed. "So what brings you in here tonight?"

"I – I think I know something. About that Marine. The dead one," he admitted, looking anxiously over his shoulder. Gibbs frowned.

"Calm down," he instructed. Was the kid on something?

"Right. Sorry. Officer Alex Johnson," he added. Gibbs stiffened. _DiNozzo's. _

"Yeah? What about him?" Gibbs asked cautiously. Adam swallowed.

"Well, um . . ." Another nervous glance around the room. "You see. . ." Another pause. A swallow. "I think I know who did it!" He blurted out. He looked like he was about to keel over.

"Take it easy there, Adam," he said. "We'll protect you. Now, who do you think did it and why do you think it?"

"Katrina Hansdotter. She's . . . she's my sister." He gave Gibbs a sorrowful look. Gibbs frowned. _Hansdotter again_, he noted in surprise.

"And why do you think?" He asked, swishing his coffee. Adam faltered slightly.

"She's . . . She was dating him. And Katrina, she had this thing. Against men. God, I can't believe I'm turning in my own sister!" he groaned. "Jesus, our Mom doesn't have to know about this, does she? I mean, it would break her heart but . . ."

"We'll protect you," Gibbs distantly heard himself say. He frowned unhappily to himself.

_Maybe it's time I ask DiNozzo a few questions . . . _


	5. IV: Head Trauma

_IV: Head Trauma_

* * *

_The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason._

_T. S. Eliot__ (1888 - 1965)_

_I'd never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason to in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. I started without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me. Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something._

_Bella Swan _from Stephenie Meyer's _Twilight_

* * *

Sunlight filtered in through half-lidded shades. The apartment was silent, except for the distant ticking of a kitchen clock. Ziva lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling and half-wondering what they were going to do when Tony woke up. There was no reason to believe that anything was going to come out of this, so her wishing was a vain, silly thing that she needed to slough off now like dead skin.

She knew it would not be that easy, no matter how much she wanted it to be. Whatever. That was okay. She would make it okay, because it had to be. One could not simply long things into reality; Tony would not love her simply because she would like him to. And she knew that in time the ache would lessen. She wasn't sure it would ever truly disappear, but it would lessen enough to become bearable and not really bother her on a day-to-day basis, maybe. Today would be hard, of course. But she would get through it, as she had endured so many worse things before.

She turned so that she was facing him. He was breathing easily now, his chest rising and falling in delicate staccato beat. She traced a finger down his jaw line and he nuzzled her hand. She froze and then breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't wake. She took her hand back and contended herself with watching him.

Getting to know him over these last few years (had it really been years already? How time flew!) had been a strange and wondrous thing. She hadn't been particularly keen on him at first. Well, that was only half-true, actually. _Physically_ she'd been attracted from the moment she saw him; _emotionally_ it had taken a little while everything to fall in place for her.

Like for his sarcastic, egoistic sense of humour to stop being annoying and start being endearing. Or for her to stop thinking _why doesn't he get a life_ when he quoted a movie and start thinking _he's rather smart being able to remember all that_. And she supposed the pivotal point where she had realized there was no going back was when they went undercover, and he kissed her with so much _passion_ and _heat_ that at first, she thought that it was really was real. And to her own surprise she didn't push him away and ask what he was doing, or recoil from his touch. She was into it too, wanting nothing more than to tussle with him all night.

She remembered how it felt to kiss him then, when both of them had been stocking up on breath mints and gum and how the electric mint taste still wasn't powerful enough to override the essence of Tony deep down in it. Delicious. The perfect complement to her own spiced palette, the thing she had so long been looking for. A cool, refreshing drink of water. It was like being dunked under water, consumed by a wave. And once you'd had your hot skin cooled so (it felt so _good_) everything was right and rational. In its next absence, you were that much more aware of the burdening heat of the sun, and how sweetly cold the water would be.

She realized she was falling in love with him on a Saturday night. She remembered clearly; how could she not after the way it had shocked her system? _The memory of his kiss, his hands all over her body, the way she had been so aware of every synapse, every electrified little impulse. . . ._She had been at a bar in downtown Washington, feeling adrift and out of place.

Lonely in a crowd. She hated the feeling. Loneliness was a creeping thing that got under her skin and licked the tender tissues in the form of a blue flame. So she had gone out, hoping that in the stretching of her muscles some chemicals would be released and she'd feel _better_. But then she got there and three men wanted to buy her drinks and she realized with a start that she didn't want it, _any_ of it. She only wanted him. His smell, his taste, his touch, his everything.

She remembered sitting there at the bar, staring at the bartender until the young man waved a hand in front of her face and asked her if everything was okay. It snapped her out of it. She paid and left and she got a cab home, but didn't go inside. She stayed in the rain for hours, feeling each individual drop. And what she wanted to do was run around screaming _I'm in love. _But she didn't. She just let the giddy-mad convulsions wrack her body and the electric zings to be feel in every inch of her skin. When she went into work that Monday morning, she stared at him and it was playing in her mind over and over again, the thing that she finally admitted to her (and _only_ herself!): _I'm in love I'm in love I'm in love I'm in love . . . ._

And that was sort of how she felt now, lying next to him. _I'm in love_. Only now a bit wrier, a sadder love. A sacrificial love, because hadn't she just put aside her feelings last night to . . . well, to _service_ him for lack of better word? She had imagined that the first time they might be together might be more romantic, under _happier _circumstances. But she had done it of her own free will, and she knew that she would do it again for him. Because that was what love meant, wasn't it? Willing sacrifice.

The covers were starting to feel too heavy, maybe from all the thoughts in her head. She pushed them off and got up, shivering a bit in the morning after-cold. It was November now, winter coming soon. She pulled on her clothes and it stung a bit, because what she really wanted to do was wear his. But the night was over, and that would no longer be appropriate. She gave him a final lingering look and reflected on how with just the falling of her covers, the night too seemed to have slipped away.

* * *

She made pancakes. She usually didn't cook breakfast, preferring the quick and easy banana and yoghurt, but today she made pancakes. She put chocolate chips in them and tried to refrain from eating the entire bag plain, but admittedly many went straight for her mouth. Whatever. Didn't matter that much.

Tony awoke to the aroma of buttermilk bread and burnt chocolate. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. He looked around and it took him a moment to remember where he was. But he saw Ziva there, and it struck him how perfect and nice it felt to have her there when he got up. He smiled.

"Hey," he said softly. She jumped.

"You're awake."

"Yeah. You're making pancakes?" he asked. She quirked an eyebrow.

"Is that so surprising?"

"Well. Um. I don't know. Do you do this for everyone or am I just special?" He pulled on his sweatpants and crossed the room. She glanced at him and then pointedly turned her attention to the frying pan.

"I was hungry," she replied as lightly as she could. "There's cereal in the cupboard for you."

"Cute, Zee-vah." Their usual banter was awkward and clunky as they tried to walk around their thoughts. Ziva shivered absentmindedly. "You cold?"

"A little. I am fine." He picked up his shirt and tried to place it over her shoulders. She shied away.

"Ziva . . ."

"Do you want pancakes, Tony?" She was smiling, but it was bright and false and made him uncomfortable. What was she thinking? Was this how they were going to do it, pretend nothing had happened? Just go on? Because he didn't know if he could do that. He hadn't gone into it with the best intentions to be sure, he just wanted some comfort. But he had _felt_ something when he was with her, something that he wasn't willing to give up. Something that was at least worth exploring.

"Pancakes sound great," he said lamely. "Look, Ziva, about last night – "

"What about it?" Her eyes were guarded, and the false note was still in her voice. He waned.

"I just thought, I don't know, I . . . thank you, I guess. You didn't have to . . . I mean . . . yeah. You shouldn't have . . ."

"It is okay, Tony," she interrupted. "You needed comfort. I hope that I could give you that." She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her head and wished he hadn't brought it up. _Why Tony could you never leave well enough alone? _

"It wasn't a fair thing for me to ask of you," he said quietly, looking at his hands.

_He grabbed her wrists. Her wrists, which suddenly looked small and delicate in his big hands._

"Tony, we both know I could have stopped you if I had wanted to. I did it of my own free will," she argued.

"I held you down . . ." She could see a lostness starting behind his eyes and felt her skin prickle with the icy sensation of dread. _Don't go there, Tony. Whatever scary place in your head you're leaving me for, don't do it. Please Tony . . . _"I grabbed you and I held you in place so you couldn't . . ."

"Yes, and then you let go of me and we slept and when I woke you from your nightmare _I _kissed _you_." And this time she grabbed his head and forced him to look her in the eye. Because he had to understand, just had to understand that this was not his burden to bear.

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I didn't want to make you do anything you didn't want to do, I just didn't think . . . I'm so sorry." And why, why couldn't he make he words in his mouth form the thoughts in his head? Why did all the words have to trip over themselves, run through his fingers and slip away? And how could he make this ok? Because really, it wasn't what he had asked of her. And of course she did it, because she was Ziva and she was loyal to a fault and she was _good_ and she did it.

"I did it because I wanted to, Tony. I know eighteen different ways to kill you with a paper clip. Do you worry yourself over thinking that I am some delicate little flower you crushed," she chided. "Eat your pancakes. We are going to be late for work. Gibbs has not called yet, but I fear he will soon if we do not get a movement-on."

"Move-on, Ziva," he automatically corrected. She gave him a look and slapped him upside the head.

"Hey!"

"I mean it. Eat. I am going to shower." She left him with a plate and headed to her bedroom. He watched her go, fighting the protest that bubbled in his low stomach. _But I need you. I want you. God Ziva, I know I can't ask you to give anything else to me, but I wish you would stay…_

When the door shut behind her it seemed to have an eerie finality to it. He shuddered and tried to concentrate on his breakfast. It shouldn't have been difficult. The pancakes were good, still hot from the pan. He ate everything. He sat there at her kitchen table, looking out the window and feeling – feeling lonely, of all things. Or no, he felt wanting. He wanted _comfort_ from her again, didn't like being alone.

He wished he had woken up earlier and watched her sleep, had a chance to hold her. But she probably wouldn't have liken that very much, so maybe it was better that he hadn't. He moved to put his dishes away and realized that he had eaten all the pancakes she'd made.

_Geez, DiNozzo. Take everything she has to offer, why don't you? _He sighed. Ziva was really too good for him. After everything she did, he really didn't have a leg to stand on. He would have to find some way to really repay her, to show her how much she meant to him. He'd take out one of these days, or make her dinner or something. _Like a date?_ Teased a voice in the back of his head. He blushed and ducked his head. _Not __**like**__ a date. __**A**__ date_. After this was all over, no more excuses. He would tell her how he felt.

He made more pancakes for her, adding in extra chocolate because he knew she liked it. Maybe he'd be able to get back into her good graces and alleviate some of the awkwardness between them with a little work.

"You are cooking?" she asked in surprise as she came out, towelling her hair. He grinned.

"I do that on occasion, Officer David," he laughed. "But yeah. I ate everything. So I felt kind of like maybe I should make you something."

"Thank you." She smiled and sat down. He quickly pressed a plate in front of her and after a moment she tentatively took a bite.

"Not bad, no?" he said smugly as her eyes lit up in surprise. "See, I have some talents."

"They are fine," she said, even though this time she took a bigger bite. He laughed.

"Just fine, she says? Ha! These are Tony DiNozzo pancakes, these are _awesome_," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"You have the biggest ego of any man I have ever met!" she declared. But she was laughing, and he was too and he dared to hope that maybe, maybe this didn't have to be awful and awkward after all. "Go take a shower, Tony," she instructed, shooing him off with a flick of her hand. He grabbed his bag and headed to her room.

The hot water felt good, falling in riverulets over his skin. He had always been a fan of really hot showers, showers so hot that by the time he left the bathroom the walls were wet with steam. This had been somewhat problematic at a boarding school of course, but then the shower just became a hallmark of all the good things about vacations or living alone. A long hot shower all to himself. Well, okay, maybe he could think of a person might not mind sharing with so terribly. . .

_He made pancakes for me_. She wanted to giggle like a teenage girl, but decided that that would be bad for her image as a Mossad agent. That, and Tony might think she was going crazy anyway if he caught her. But still, the urge was there. And yeah, it was probably just because he had eaten all the ones she made, but the fact remained that he had made her pancakes and they were delicious and she was happy.

She was sipping her coffee and reflecting when her cell phone went off. _Gibbs, _she thought unhappily. She winced and tried to figure out how she was going to explain their far overreached lateness. _I thought Tony needed to sleep after the day he had . . . ?_ She checked caller ID. McGee calling. She flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Where _are _you guys?" he asked. Ziva flushed and was grateful that he couldn't see her.

"I let Tony sleep. I thought he needed it after the day he had yesterday," she replied. "We will be there shortly. Tell Gibbs – "

"Gibbs isn't mad, Ziva," McGee cut her off. "That's the weird part. He seems perfectly fine. So I wondered if everything was alright . . ."

"Everything is fine," she said confusedly. Gibbs knew they were in the office, and he wasn't mad? What on earth was going on? "We will be there soon," she reiterated. She hung up and stared at her phone. _That was a weird conversation._

"Ziva, who are you talking to?" She jumped at the sound of Tony shouting.

"McGee. We need to get to work," she chided. She heard the rushed rustling of clothing and then running water as he hurriedly brushed his teeth.

"Why did you keep us here so long anyway?" he asked, coming out of the bathroom. She frowned.

"I thought with everything going on for you, you might appreciate some extra sleep," she said scathingly. He softened.

"I did. I just don't want Gibbs to eat me for lunch."

"That is the strange thing. McGee says that Gibbs is not angry," she said, glancing at her phone as though it might hold answers. It worried her, actually. It wasn't like Gibbs to simply let things slide, especially things like this under these circumstances. She bit her lip absentmindedly.

"That sounds ominous," Tony said. She looked up as he left the bathroom. "Let's go." Her breath was a little strained as they geared up and left. There seemed a certain finality to it. Like when she closed the door to her apartment, she was closing the door on her and Tony.

* * *

Gibbs was frustrated. This was absolutely ridiculous, really. If anyone had given the situation back to him with different names and faces his answer would have been instantaneous, automatic. Adam's testimony meant Tony had to be questioned. But that didn't mean he had to look forward to the interrogation, and in fact he had let Tony and Ziva sleep to put it off.

"We won't be late again boss," Tony said as they clamoured into the bullpen, Gibbs watching from above. He didn't say anything, just gave him a curt nod.

"He did not say anything," Ziva noted, watching as Gibbs advanced towards Vance's door. Tony frowned.

"Wonder why he's talking to Vance," he voiced, trying to fight threatening nervousness. He coughed and Ziva gave him a sidelong look.

"I am sure he has a good reason," she replied simply. "We should get to work." He watched her sit down at her desk and after a beat followed to his own. Then tension between them was still palpable; he didn't like it. He turned to his computer and began typing, not really seeing the words.

Ziva typed but she was sure that anything she put out was completely intelligible. She couldn't concentrate; her head was too full of Tony. Well, Gibbs and his cryptic actions were there too now actually. It wasn't like him to concede a late morning, especially on such a sensitive case. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. Something was very, very wrong and not knowing what it was made her anxious. The computer blinked. She typed more babble.

Upstairs, Gibbs took a deep breath to centre himself. He was not looking forward to this, but it had to be done. He frowned and found himself once again thinking of Jenny, wishing Jenny was there. Jenny would have been able to figure this out with him, make it alright. _Jenny's not here, _hissed a voice in the back of his head. _Jenny . . . is dead_. A spasm of pain flickered under his skin but he ignored it. _Wishing doesn't bring them back_.

He knocked on Vance's door. There was a pause, and for a (glorious?) moment he thought maybe no one would answer. But then the door swung open to reveal the director, who was not quite able to keep his surprise and his mouth was just the slightest bit open. Gibbs allowed himself a mental chuckle at the expression. Outwardly, he was stoic. The situation was too delicate for anything else.

"Director," he said with a nod.

"Gibbs," he returned. "Would you come in?" The tone was polite but the eyes were guarded. Understandably. It was not like Gibbs to come to Vance for . . . well, for anything.

"Thank you." Gibbs awkwardly entered and Vance shut the door. The secretary watched them as they moved into Vance's office, and jumped when the door shut decisively behind them.

"What's going on?" Vance asked urgently. Gibbs's coming here disturbed him; he could think of very few things that would move Gibbs to do this, and none of them were things he liked very much to think about. He knew that Gibbs was respected at NCIS, and knew that until he earned Gibbs's respect he was fighting an uphill battle to get anyone else's. He was trying, God knew. He was trying as hard as he could. But he wasn't Jenny Shepard, and he had the bad fortune to be acutely aware of that fact.

Gibbs swallowed and held Vance's gaze. He knew his hated was misplaced grief. It didn't make it easier to bear, but it dulled the edge a little bit. He was trying, God knew. He was trying as hard as he could. But Vance wasn't Jenny, and would never be Jenny, and maybe that was a good thing because he seemed to destroy all the things he loved. Like some poison, some sinister thing, was his parasite breathing in him and living of his viscera.

"We have an issue involving Agent DiNozzo," Gibbs said slowly, watching Vance for his reaction. He watched the battle unfold on his face as Vance fought to control his emotions. "I think I'm going to have to take him in for questioning."

"What is going on, Gibbs?" Vance said, trying to fight the bidding waves of fury and panic overwhelming his system. Gibbs sighed.

"We found a dead marine with DiNozzo's name carved into his chest, and then last night some guy came in implicating an ex-girlfriend in the murder, and I need more information about the girl," Gibbs said, trying to fight the bitterness he felt having to confess these things. _Calm down, he's on __**your**__ side._

"And why exactly was I not alerted immediately about this?" Vance seethed. "Dammit, after the senator I thought it was clear that we needed an open channel of communication!" He wasn't shouting, but the urgent near-whispered was almost worse. Gibbs sighed again.

"I'll work on it," he promised. A moment passed as Vance reined himself in. _Let it go. That's the best you'll get out of L. J. "Apologising is a Sign of Weakness" Gibbs. _He closed his eyes and then opened them again, his gaze steady and clear.

"So what now?" he asked, sinking down into his desk chair. Gibbs ran a hand through his hair.

"I will talk to Tony," he said. Vance nodded.

"Get to it then," he instructed. Gibbs turned to leave, relief flooding into his temples. "And Gibbs?" He turned back at the sound of his name and looked to the director expectantly. "Keep me in the loop from now on."

"Of course." Gibbs left and Vance decided that all things considered, it could have been worse.

* * *

This time, Katrina was prepared. She saw it as a calling card of sorts, a signature. Truly, it was _trilling _this time around. She had little goosebumps all up and down her arms. She smiled admiringly at her handiwork and wiped the knife clean on her skirt. Bastard deserved it anyway the way he was coming on to her. Navy. All the same.

The blood wouldn't be quite dry when they found the body later that day, and it would be easy to read the carving on the young man's chest:

_Anthony DiNozzo:_

_I own the night. _


	6. V: Låt Den Rätte Komma In

_V: __Låt Den Rätte Komma In_

_(Let the Right One In)_

_We often forget that what we consider laws of nature are actually nothing but our ignorant ideas about a highly complex reality. For instance, the fact that we are living in a cloud of particles with no substance: photons and neutrinos. Or that fact that all matter – even that of which the human body is composed – is primarily emptiness, a vacuum. The distance between the particles in the atoms is just as great as the distance between a star and its planets. What gives rise to surface and solidity is not the particles themselves, in other words, but the electromagnetic field that binds them. Quantum physics also teaches us that the very smallest elements of matter are not just particles. They are also waves. Simultaneously. For the duration of a microsecond the electron tries out its potential positions, and for that instant all its possibilities are equally real._

_So everything is in flux. As we know._

_~ Desiree from Majul Axelsson's Aprilhäxam (April Witch) _

_As translated from the original Swedish by Linda Schenck _

There was nothing to fear but fear itself.

So the story went.

Except today there was the distinct taste of some bad thing in the air, some malevolent thing. It made Tony nervous and he found himself unable to work because he was just waiting, waiting for whatever it was to _happen_ already. And he would rather it happened so he could just get it over with, because the suspense was killing him. He had never done very well with ambiguity.

He could deal with bad news; once he had the news he could plan a course of action, handle things. But not knowing – it would always be the not knowing that got to him. He stole a glance across they way. _Ziva_. God, he wished he could read minds or something, figure her out. Had she felt anything last night? Was she like him, sitting and hoping and waiting and wishing and wanting to know _so badly_ and in the end only being human and not?

He checked his email for the seventh time in the last ten minutes and wondered why there wasn't more mindless work for him to do, why everything required all this _thinking_ that he just wasn't up to doing yet. He couldn't deal with his emotions, with the uneasy adrenaline coursing through his veins a mile a minute. He wanted to grab her and kissed her so hard she saw stars. No, he wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep for years and years and years and wake up to everything perfected. _Can't deal can't deal . . . ._

The world seemed slightly dark, blurry. All he could think about Ziva. And last night. And the feeling of her soft dark hands on his hot skin, and the way she had tasted in his mouth. And he remembered every contour of her body when she wrapped herself around him and how he never wanted to let her go – never wanted to be without this _feeling_. He just wanted to kiss her all over, to hold her and watch her sleep. Hell, he'd even try to learn goddamn Hebrew if she wanted him to so she could be in Israel. Except now it was all destroyed, fallen apart through his clumsy fingers. _Should have been more careful, Tony. . ._

But he wasn't. He broke things. Lots of them. His fingers were too thick, and big and clumsy. Things got destroyed under his greedy, grasping hands. He needed to learn to wanted less, to be _better. _He had to let Ziva go. It had been excessively kind of her to endure him last night. He couldn't ask her for more, it just wouldn't be _right_. . .

He got up from his desk; it wasn't like he was focusing anyway. It was all just too much, too many complications and things left unsaid, or at least for him. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe this was all nothing to her, maybe she really could just fuck him and have it mean nothing. He wouldn't be entirely surprised. He had been in pain, and Ziva was loyal to a fault. And she could distance herself. She was so _strong_, and most of the time it was one of the things he most admired about her. But right now . . . right now he just wished he could dive past those soft brown eyes and look inside her head and know what she was thinking.

He got himself a chocolate bar from the vending machine and sat at the table, eating it slowly and staring off into space. Screw it. When this was all over, he was going to ask Ziva on a date. Tell her how he felt and what not. Okay, so that was make-his-stomach-hurt scary, but he would get over that. Because now he knew her, and he craved her.

He wanted the stupid things, like waking up and smelling the perfume of her hair, or watching wrinkle her nose in that adorable way when she painted her nails. He wanted the chance to buy her a gift and watch her face light up if (when? Oh please god, when!) he got it right. He would buy her flowers and chocolates, take her out on the town. Maybe, if the memory of Jeanne wasn't too fresh in his mind, he could try to write her a song. Yes! He would write her a song. Or at least a poem since he guitar playing skills weren't anything to write home about. He glanced over at Ziva again, and for a moment his heart raced as she looked away – _as if she had been staring at him_.

Ziva's heart thudded as she turned her gaze back to her desk. Had Tony seen her staring? Probably had . . . oh, _Adonai . . ._

McGee couldn't help but keep looking at Tony and Ziva. They were acting so strange today . . . what was up with them anyway? They kept stealing glances at each other when the other wasn't looking, and honestly it was beginning to feel a little bit like seventh grade all over again. Except by this time in seventh grade Ziva's BFF would have told _everyone_ that she "liked" Tony (but only after swearing them all to secrecy!) and of course that would lead to Ziva finding out and a fight and drama. And then when Tony teased Ziva (because he secretly liked her too!) the friends would reconcile in an alliance against Tony. And so it would go until someone gave Tony the slip.

He almost laughed as he caught Ziva looking at Tony. She actually looked really worried. It was kind of cute. It could be nice it they got together. He would have the right to tease them about his book for the rest of eternity, claiming to have subconsciously brought them together. That could be kind of fun. He'd finally have something to lord over them. Yes, this actually could be _quite_ a source of pleasure for him. Maybe he'd even tell Abby about this plan if he was feeling generous.

"DiNozzo." Gibb's voice was frighteningly soft as he approached Tony's desk. Tony looked up with tired eyes and Gibbs felt a small twinge of guilt. Small enough to be ignored, of course, but not so small it didn't sit there, weighing in his mind. _I'm sorry, Tony_, he thought.

"Boss?" Tony responded uncertainly, straightening up. "Was there something you wanted or . . . something?" he trailed off. McGee felt his breath hitch slightly and looked over at Ziva. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, not even bothering to try to conceal her interest. _Tony, please,_ she thought, wanting to run out and . . . well, she didn't know what but she would figure it out. She just needed to protect him from Gibbs.

"I need you to come with me." Gibbs didn't even look at him as he delivered the news. McGee glanced back, and was surprised by Tony's look. Could that be described as _. . . crestfallen? _McGee fought to keep his face neutral. Yeah, that was definitely some weirdness going on here. He actually felt kind of bad for Tony. He _never_ felt bad for Tony. Well, maybe the time he got the plague but he was dying then, it was different . . .

"Yeah. Sure," Tony said, trying to look bright. He got up, smiling at them. Ziva felt her heart tug a little harder and fought the urge to go with him. She almost reached out to touch his shoulder, but she pulled away at the last second and just stared. McGee cringed. He knew that look. Ziva had gone and fallen in love with him. Oh God, did she know what she was getting herself into? Poor girl. He felt so sorry for her . . .

_Tony, I'm sorry. Please Tony. I'll take it all back now. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't hurt him Gibbs, I don't think he can take anymore,_ Ziva thought wildly. Her heart hurt from pounding so hard, and she knew it wouldn't let up any time soon. _Please Gibbs, give us some more time. I can taste an answer on the tip of my tongue. I can tell you Gibbs, if you only give me a little more time! Two and two make four. I know algebra; I can get the answer without all the pieces. Please . . ._

The elevator doors closed. Ziva jumped up and flew to the bathroom and all McGee could do was watch her. He got up slowly. Maybe Abby would be able to offer her some comfort, do something where he felt too awkward.

* * *

Tony was silent as he followed Gibbs down to the interrogation room. He had known this was coming, but he had hoped so much against it. He didn't want to talk about it. He _couldn't _talk about, goddammit. But he knew already that somehow, Gibbs would make him. Because Gibbs was like that – he supposed he wouldn't like him so much if he wasn't.

Gibbs was complicated and fierce and scary and Tony respected him but god he was scared sometimes. Gibbs was a force to be reckoned with, that was for certain. Tony's heart was in his stomach, and he could practically feel the blood reverberating throughout his system. He swallowed hard and tried to formulate lies. _She's just some psycho. Dunno why. Don't have to say anything, nothing at all. Request a lawyer. Fuck `em all. Katrina's just a psycho, dunno why she's targeting me …_

"Have a seat . . . Tony," Gibbs said, gesturing across the way. Tony nodded and mirthlessly sat, staring at the double mirror. He wanted to pace. He wondered if Gibbs could smell the sex on him, see written all over his face what he and Ziva had done last night. Something about being in this room with Gibbs made him want to confess everything . . . _Bad, wrong! That is not what I told you to do. I said lie! _ His mind was pulsating with voices and thoughts. Too many . . .

"Thanks," Tony responded weakly. He ran a hand through his hair. "So, what do you want to talk about?" It sounded nervous and shaky even to his own ears. _You have something to hide and now he knows . . ._

_Shut up!  
_

"Katrina Larsdotter," Gibbs replided smoothly. Tony shrugged in a way that he hoped was nonchalant.

"What about her? She's my ex-girlfriend." Could he see the way sweat was forming on his brow and palms? Could he smell his fear the way he had always suspected he could?

"Yeah. Things must have ended pretty badly." Feeling it out, a little gentler than with other suspects. He would never admit it, but he was grateful.

"Yeah. I ran off in the middle of the night." _Keep it as close to the truth as possible and he'll have to believe the lies too_.

"Why?"  
"She was crazy!" He barked a bitter laugh. "I mean, usually women would become killers have a few ticks before the breaking point, you know? Well, maybe not," he said, looking down at his lap. _Shut up, Tony_.

"I have heard that," Gibbs conceded. A pause. The room was so quiet, claustrophobicly quiet. He felt a little hot, a little suffocated. _Ignore it_. He clenched the muscles in his thighs so he wouldn't bounce his leg.

"Yeah. She used to be scary when she was pissed off. . . "

_The plates shatter against the wall and everything is a mess, the spaghetti sauce looking like blood all over. She is Lucinda, the Devil in the form of a woman. Her long blond hair is crazy, her eyes livid. He feels his stomach drop and a small voice is whispering in the back of his head. . ._

_You're not getting out of this one, DiNozzo. _

_"Kat, hey. Kat, what's wrong? I thought – I though you liked spaghetti. When we talked on the phone today, you said – you said you wanted Italian for dinner," Tony says meekly. Katrina snorts and he winces. He's been dreading this. He can't seem to do anything right with her. Especially not lately. It's only because it's Christmas, and she's so stressed out. He knows she's been trying to find him the perfect gift, and she really hasn't been to well off lately. Work is bad. He should be more understanding. He shouldn't' have asked her to hold for a minute today when Ziva needed to ask him something. That always makes her mad. God, why is so stupid? _

_He looks up at her, her eyes shining and her tiny fists clenched. She's so small and delicate,d he can't raise a hand against her. What kind of monster . . . what kind of monster . . ._

"_You've made me very angry, Tony . .. "  
_

_Here it comes . . ._

_He flinches when she slaps him, the sound resonating in the tiny room. And then another, the other cheek. And then she's climbing on his lap and kissing him with her hands around his neck, choking him at the same time. And he can't move, can't think. She is cutting the oxygen off to his brain, and for a moment something flashes red in his head and he realises that this could really be bad, really. He could be dying and . . . _

_Do something!  
_

_"Katrina! I can't breathe, Kat!" he begs, struggling. She shoves him on to the floor and he groans as he hits his head on the table leg. "Ow . . ." Everything is blurry. Why is everything so blurry? Is it supposed to be like that?_

_"You no-good, rotton son of a bitch!" Katrina shrieks, kicking him in the stomach. He hisses and doubles over. If he is quiet, it will end sooner maybe. If he says he's sorry and promises to never do it again. . . . _

_"Please, you hit me there last night, I'm still sore . . ._

_"Fuck you!" It is a horrifying sound, and he gasps aloud at the next kick. It hurts. He wants to cry out, but he can't. No one is supposed to know. He has to been quiet. She doesn't really mean it. It will be over shortly. He deserves it. Katrina doing what Jeanne can't but should get . . ._

_She punches his eyes and he feels the blackness, the swelling. And he takes it willingly, hoping to take all the anger away, to feel what he must have done to poor Jeanne. He won't scream. He deserves this. Monster. _

_"Dammit!" He curses as she slams his head against the floor. She looks at him sorrowfully for a minute, then kisses him tenderly. _

_"I'm sorry, baby," she whispers. _

_Sorry?  
_

_"Kat?" He's beginning to get a little worried now. She never says sorry, not so soon. Not without torturing him a bit more. And not when she's so angry . . . and something is wrong, he's sure of it now. The knot of fear is prickling in his stomach and Tony, you're not getting out of this one. Not alive, Tony._

_"You never learn." _

_When she slams the fire poker into his leg, he screams._

* * *

"_Please be careful, with him, after what that mugger did I couldn't stand it if he got hurt any worse!"_

"_We're doing everything we can ma'am, he's pretty bad though"_

"_Oh I know! Tony? Tony, can you hear me baby? Tony please, hold on! I love you!" _

"_Are you the next of kin?"  
_

"_Yeah. I'll ride with him."_

_And so God let the Devil into Heaven and therein made it hell. . . ._

* * *

"Women are crazy," Gibbs said with a chuckle. Tony smiled but it was nervous. His heart wasn't in it. Gibbs frowned and his stomach tightened. He didn't want Tony to have a hand in any of this, but if this kept up . . . "So why you, Tony?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

_Why me indeed .. . _

"I dunno. Upset she lost the hottest thing on the planet. Poor girl. I mean, I genuinely feel bad for her, don't you? I mean, to have _me _and lose me? Geez, I mean that really sucks." _Stop babbling_. He smiled at Gibbs again and wondered if his heart pounding sounded as loud to Gibbs as it did to him. Was he winning? Did Gibbs believe him? Would he let it go?

"Really." Yeah, not for one second.

"Really really."

"No idea why she would choose you?"

"None at all."

"Just nothing."

"Nothing is right."

"It is, is it?"

"It is!"

"Stop lying to me, Tony!" Gibbs suddenly yelled, standing up and looming over the younger man. Tony swallowed and froze. He was suddenly aware of exactly how deep in he was, how bad things were. Gibbs didn't believe him. _No one_ was going to believe him. He was fucked now. He was so, so fucked. Tony folded his hands in front of himself and took a deep, shaky breath. He would not cry. How old was he anyway, ten?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted, staring at his lap. Gibbs clenched his jaw. He didn't know why Tony was lying, but it hurt. Not much. Of course not much. He was Leroy Jethro Gibbs, nothing got to him. But still. Tony didn't trust him. Tony couldn't confide in him. Tony was scared and in trouble and there was nothing he could do about it because stupid Tony wouldn't goddamn let him.

"Why are you different, Tony? Why you? She attacked you for some reason. She wants you for _some reason_. So what did you do to her, Tony? Sleep with her best friend?" He taunted. Tony clenched his jaw and burned red. Gibbs zeroed in. _Tease it out_. "Yeah, that's it, isn't it? You slept with her best friend and when she found out she was pissed as hell. Dammit, DiNozzo, be smarter!" Gibbs yelled. Tony have him a hard look.

"I never cheated on anyone," he said, his voice dark and quiet. There was a hint of steel in his eyes. Gibbs felt bittersweet irony. _You taught him well, didn't you?_

"You didn't, did you? Then tell me, Tony, please. Help me help you. Tell me why she wants you dead," Gibbs pleaded. Tony squirmed. God, it was hot in here . . .

"I want a lawyer." He stared at his hands, not even looking up as Gibb's cell phone rang.

"_What?" _he barked. Why the fuck was Ziva disturbing him? She _knew _what was going on right now . . .

"She abused him." Ziva nearly choked trying to get the words out. _See Gibbs, I can do algebra. Two plus two equals four . . . _

"What? Who? What are you talking about, Ziva?" Gibbs asked, straightening up. Fear pounded in his veins as he heard Ziva choked back a small sob.

"The girlfriend. Tony's. She abused him," Ziva said, biting her lip and hating the silent tears running down her face. Of course, it all made sense now. Last Christmas. And she had been _so stupid_, not seeing it this whole time she could have rescued him and she didn't, didn't . . . she was so sorry . . .

"Ziva. . ." Gibbs's voice trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what to say; he had never been very good with emotions. He looked at Tony, who was staring at him with concern at Ziva's name. "Oh, Tony." And then the only thing that seemed appropriate …

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Bundibird - your message inspired me to finish this despite the craziness of the last few weeks. Thanks so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

And guys, please do review. All your wonderful feedback is what inspires me and keeps this story going. Thank you so much!


	7. VI: לילה תוב

_VI: לֹילא תוו_

_(Leila Tov)_

_(Good Night)_

* * *

_I was worn out, broken: He had taken almost everything. But he had been all I'd had, all this time. And when the police led him away, I pulled out of the hands of all these loved ones, sobbing, screaming, everything hurting, to try and make him stay. _

_- Caitlin, from Sarah Dessen's Dreamland_

* * *

Sorry?

That couldn't possibly be right.

It was Gibbs's own rule, for God's sake. Never say you're sorry, it's a sign of weakness. So why was Gibbs apologizing? Tony wasn't aware of having said anything incriminating. Or was that it? Was it because he wasn't talking – was he going to be held in contempt, jailed for perjury?

He hoped not, but at this point he really didn't know what was going on. God, he hated this. He just wanted to know what was going on. But of course no one was going to tell him. That wouldn't be like Gibbs. Wouldn't be right. He was a cop, he knew the system. Never give anything away, keep the suspect guessing.

Why was he being questioned anyway, hadn't he willingly enough given them her name? He had said he wanted a lawyer just to shut Gibbs up, but now he was beginning to get the bad feeling that maybe he might actually need one. Except he really, really didn't want it to have to come to that. Because he liked his job, and he liked NCIS, and these people were his family for crying out loud and he couldn't really even bare to think about being without them for a minute because honestly, that was too painful. If he went this route, there would be no going back. There would be no second chances.

The words were bubbling up his throat, sticking and clawing at his stomach to _get out_. He would do it, then. _I'll tell you everything, Gibbs, confess it all. _But then he saw the look on his face and they died in the back of his throat.

"Sorry?" he echoed hoarsely. "Sorry? Gibbs, you don't do that – what happened? Who's on the phone?"

Gibbs gave him a pitying look.

* * *

_1 hour ago _

Ziva stood in the bathroom, gripping the sink so hard her knuckles turned ashen. Ashen, like the corpses downstairs with Ducky. Like how she _felt_ right now, all dead and taken apart. Like someone had take a knife and cut her open and gone through all her insides, squishing them and rearranging them to _their _pleasure rather than hers. Her skin felt all wrong on her flesh, too tight.

She _hated _this. Tony was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could only sit there and helplessly wish that Gibbs went easy on him, even though she didn't have much hope of that happening. Because Gibbs didn't go easy on anyone, and she knew (she _knew!_) that it was more important to find a killer than to protect Tony's little _feeling_. First things first – Gibbs got the job done.

And other times she was grateful for that, because Gibbs really did love NCIS, really did show a loyalty to it. NCIS was his baby, and today his baby was sick. And Tony might be part of the family, but he was still the older child and therefore would have to be questioned because sometimes the older children hurt the baby. And in that moment, for the first time she felt a piercing bolt of genuine loathing for her boss. Because up until then, she had admired his drive, his dedication. Now it was against her and she wanted to burst into that cold little room and wrap her hot fingers around his neck.

There had to be something she could do. She couldn't just stand here, not again. She would not be helpless. She had done that already with Tali, watching the sidewalk go red with her too pure blood. Tali, who was only sixteen when she died. She woulnd't be like that with Tony, standing there and watching him bleed out while she was _right there _and just _watching _like a stupid little girl. She inhaled sharply.

_Tony is not Tali, don't get so dramatic, _a voice in the back of her head chided. _Gibbs is not a terrorist. You are not in Israel. It's a completely different situation. Get over it. Get your ass in gear. _Ziva straightened up and stared her reflection. _We will get this done. _

She splashed some water on her face and took a deep breath. She would be there for Tony as she could not for Tali. She would fix this, because she had to. Everything was going to be alright. She would not come this close to having him only to have him pulled out of her arms.

"Ziva!" Abby barreled in, nearly knocking into the other woman. Ziva braced herself against the sinks and frowned.

"Abby? Did you need me?" she asked, confused. Abby bit her lip and gave Ziva an uncertain look. She felt her stomach drop and fought to keep her face neutral. _What is this all about_? "Abby, what is going on?"

"McGee was worried about you. So he sent me here. Do you need a hug?" Abby asked, perking slightly at the end. Ziva frowned slightly and leaned back.

"I am fine, Abby. I am worried for Tony. Gibbs took him for questioning," she said, running a hand through her hair. Abby seemed unable to help herself as she flew across the room and gathered Ziva in her arms. "Abby . . ."

"Ziva, I know you hate physical contact when you're not beating someone up and being all supercool ninja but just let me hug you, okay?" Abby said earnestly, tightening her already strong grip on Ziva's waist. Ziva sighed but stopped struggling, waiting impatiently for Abby to finish. Was it really such a character flew that she didn't feel the need to be crawling all over someone all the time? _Honestly._

"We need to be helping Tony, Abby, we cannot stand here all day," Ziva protested. Abby straightened up immediately.

"To the lab!"

"To the lab?"

"To the lab!" Abby declared cheerily. She exited and Ziva had no choice but to follow as the perky forensic scientist gallivanted off. She appreciated Abby's enthusiasm, she truly did, but it was _hard_ to keep up with her! Abby was a ball of pure energy, hopping from one thing to another at lightening speed. Ziva wasn't sure all those Caf-Pows were good for her. Abby really didn't need more sugar and caffeine in her system, it was probably wrecking havoc on her health. She followed Abby into the lab and the door shut softly behind them.

"So why is Gibbs questioning Tony anyway?" Abby asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear as they pulled up to the computer. Ziva shrugged.

"Perhaps Vance is on his donkey," Ziva mused. Abby cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you . . . oh! You mean ass," she corrected chirpily. Ziva growled and crossed her arms.

"Stupid American idioms," she grumbled. "They are going to be the death of me, I swear."

"Well, you got that one right," Abby said encouragingly. Ziva graced her with a small smile and sighed. She wished the machines could just spit back answers, tell her what was going on to make Tony act so strangely. She had the vague bad feeling that the answer was right in front of her, and as soon as it made itself known she would have the awful task of beating herself up for not noticing sooner.

"We should check medical records," she said, glancing up at the screen. Abby nodded and punched in a few keystrokes. Ziva didn't even bother trying to keep up. Technology wasn't really her thing.

"Katrina hasn't spent a lot of time in the hospital . . . well, this is kind of interesting," Abby said, squinting at something. Ziva frowned.

"What? What is going on?" she asked, pressing against Abby's side. Her breath hitched in her throat slightly and she bit her lip.

"She's listed a bunch of times as coming in with Tony . . . actually, Tony was admitted to the ER a lot last year, between September and Christmas. Twenty-eight visits. _Man_," Abby said, frowning slightly and knitting her eyebrows. Ziva's stomach lurched.

"_It's nothing, I just tripped._

"_I walked into the wall. Stupid, right? I was so dead yesterday morning."_

"_Yeah, I was drunk last night, I don't really remember how it happened. . . ."_

"_I got mugged last night! Can you believe it? And they gave me these black eyes, man."_

"_I fell out of bed, don't worry about it Zee-vah."_

All those times . . . and she had ignored it, been completely ignorant and paid no attention to what was right in front of her eyes. She gripped the interface, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. How could she have been so _stupid_? She moaned softly and collapsed into the seat, burying her face in her hands. _Stupid, stupid, stupid . . ._

"Ziva? Ohmigod, what's wrong?" Abby asked, fluttering nervously. Ziva barked a bitter laugh.

"Algebra," she responded, ignoring Abby's perplexed look. _Two plus two equals four. Of course. _"I have to go Abby, thank you for helping me." She left, her head spinning. One hand was pressed to her stomach, the other to her mouth. God, she felt awful. If what she thought was real . . .

Well, she wouldn't think the word, not yet. Thank god Tony was her partner, thank god they had given each other emergency contact status and right to medical records. She winced slightly, trying to evade the bitter taste left in her mouth with the sense that she was in some way going behind his back, but ignored it. Tony would deal; he needed her intervention.

"What's going on?" McGee asked as she grabbed her jacket and turned off her computer monitor. "Gibbs want us to do something . . . ?"

"_I _am going out," Ziva said firmly, giving him a steady look. "I will return shortly. I have my phone if you need me." She clipped the small device to her belt and headed for the door, heart pounding.

* * *

Ziva inhaled sharply as she approached the large building. Sirens screamed around her, but she barely heard them. All she could think about was Tony, really. Her stomach clenched and she remembered again last Christmas, when they returned to work and his ankle was twisted and he claimed to have slipped on some black ice. And she stupid, _stupidly_ believed him.

And she now all she could think about was the twenty-eight times Tony been at the hospital the last five months of the last year. How had she not seen? Why was she so stupid? She was Mossad, for God's sake! Best of the best. And still, and still and still and still she hadn't been able to protect Tony. Whoever had been hurting him . . . they would pay. She would torture them somewhere no one would hear their screaming.

She got out of the car and headed towards the looming building, listening to the cacophony of sobbing and screaming people. She didn't like hospitals. Doctors were fine, sure, but hospitals smelled like death and were filled with hopelessness and helplessness and sorrow. People only smiled in the maternity ward, and even then not all of them.

She remembered the hospitals in Israel, the smell of antiseptic burning in her nose while she laid numbly on her father's lap, listening to beeping, cold machines and mothers' mourning shrieks. And then the doctor came in covered in Tali's blood and said those horrible words . . . .

"My name is Ziva David. I need the medical records for Tony DiNozzo," she said to the desk intern. The wide-eyed girl immediately sat up straighter and nodded.

"Of course! Right away!" she squeaked, jumping up. She flew to a computer and with a few expert keystrokes page were printing. Ziva stared at them with a knot of dread slowly forming in her stomach. _Why didn't you tell me, Tony? _She wondered fervently. If he had only let her, she would have helped him!

"_Toda_. Er, thank you," she quickly corrected, flushing at her mistake. _I must be pretty bad to be reverting back to Hebrew_, she thought distantly. She considered taking a break, then decided against it. She needed to know what was going on with Tony, and she needed to know now. She left and when she crossed the parking lot a second time, it was harder to ignore the sounds of misery all around her. She sped up as she got to the car.

* * *

Name: Anthony DiNozzo

Gender: Male

12.25: patient came in with Katrina Larsdotter, emergency contact (note: unregistered as of 1.3) presenting with two black eyes, three cracked ribs, twisted ankle, and multiple contusions in different stages of healing. Presented with epidural hematoma; needed to be resuscitated once. Supported on ventilator for two days; patient left without discharge on 12.29.

* * *

_Last Christmas:_

_His first thought was that he should have gone towards the light. If ever there had been circumstances meriting it, now was that time. He should have run to the light with open arms and not thought, not looked back. It wasn't safe here anymore, and he was kidding himself if he thought that he could handle it. _

_He groaned softly and started to roll over, but then decided that was a bad idea as pain seared through his torso. He whimpered and moved back to his back. A little more comfortable. Not good, though. And he had the bad feeling he was on some pretty strong pain meds as it was. He decided to attempt opening his eyes, and found it straining but not as bad as he had anticipated. Slowly, the world swam into focus._

_"You gave us quite a scare there, Mr. DiNozzo," came a soft voice from the doorway. He looked towards the sound through slit eyes; the swelling was still a little bad. _

_"Hmm." A grunt was the best they would be getting out of him for a while. His throat felt raw and dry. He attempted to clear it. "Water."_

_"Of course." The nurse moved out of the doorway and pressed a small plastic cup to his cracked lips. He drank greedily, winced as a cut reopened. "Careful. They got you pretty good."_

_"Uh-huh." He wanted to grab the cup, dump the whole thing down his throat but that would have taken too much of an effort and besides his arms felt rather numb so he wasn't even entirely sure that was a possibility. He sighed, relaxing into the pillows._

_"You've been here a lot," the nurse said timidly. He opened a single eye and graced her with another grunt. He wished she would leave. He wanted to sleep. "If something is happening," she was weighing her words carefully, he could tell, "we can help you. You aren't alone," she soothed. He might have barked a laugh, but that even sounded too painful._

_"More. Water." A pause. God, this was hard. "Throat. Hurts." It burned so badly to force the words out. He wondered where Katrina was. He hoped the nurse wouldn't piss her off too badly. He doubted it, though. She would still be in the guilt stage now, cooing and trying to make it up to him. He was safe. It was all okay. _

_"Here." She pressed another cup of water to his lips. "You've thirsty because we've had you on IV drip. You were in a coma for a couple of days. You suffered an epidural hematoma, bleeding in the brain. You almost died. You stopped breathing. We had to resuscitate you," she said sternly. His heart lurched a little bit and he choked on the water. "Careful!"_

_"Die?" he asked, water spilling out his mouth and down his front. "Die?" How could have let things get this bad? When had that happened?_

_"Yes, Mr. DiNozzo. Die," the nurse replied, meeting his eyes with a steady gaze. He sank down into the pillows, his heart slamming in his chest. _

_If he stayed, she would kill him._

_She almost had this time._

_He would leave. And he would never, ever tell anyone._

_Never._

* * *

Ziva was frozen at her desk. The words all blurred under her eyes and soon her mind was a babbling mess, all the languages sloshing and mixing into one. All this time, she could have done something and all this time she had been blind and now that she could see, how the light burned! She wished it was last year, wished she could hold him in her arms and comfort him and take him away from that evil _bitch_. She squeezed her hands into angry fists.

Returning to his desk, McGee nearly dropped his fresh cup of coffee at the sight that greeted him. Ziva was sitting there, unhappy tears running silently down her face. She didn't move to wipe them away, too absorbed in whatever it was she was reading. He look a breath to steel himself, that touched her shoulder. She jumped and looked up at him through long wet lashes. She sniffed, and seemed like a little girl. He frowned. _This isn't right. _

"What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" He had a dozen questions for her, but held back. It was the last thing she needed right now.

"We are all such fools," she said, laughing bitterly. "We only see what we want to see. We ignore the things in front of us, even as they scream for our notice. What is wrong with us, McGee? How could this happen?" she whispered. She was looking pleadingly at him, helpless and hopeless. "I cannot – I must talk to Gibbs," she resolved, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. She pulled out her phone and her hands shook as she pressed speed dial five.

"_What?_"

"She abused him." _See Gibbs, I can do algebra. Two plus two equals four. . ._

* * *

"Sorry?" he echoed hoarsely. "Sorry? Gibbs, you don't do that – what happened? Who's on the phone?"

"Ziva," he responded, slowly sitting down. Tony's stomach dropped. The blood was rushing, roaring in his ears, painful almost. He knitted his fingers together.

"And?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral. Gibbs gave him a long, sad look and Tony smiled stoically back. _Admit to nothing. . . _

"You could have told us," he said, setting his jaw and sitting up straight. Tony inhaled and exhaled slowly.

"Told you what?"

"The abuse." And then it was there, real and said and out there and there was nothing to do because the thing that he had been trying _so hard_ to hide was now alive, pulsating and screeching and true. And he didn't know what to do, because it was there, there, there. He dug his nails into his palms and felt hot trickles of blood.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he growled, dropping his voice to an angry growl. "You don't know anything."

"You could have told us, Tony," Gibbs repeated, looking almost – was that disappointment written in his features? Tony's face burned with shame. The room was too hot, too small. He needed to _get out_.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted, jumped up and then sitting back down again. Because where was he going to go, what was he going to do? The world was spinning. He loosened his collar and stared at the mirror.

"We would have protected you! Helped you!" Gibbs shouted, standing up. Tony glared resentfully at him. He hated this mind trick, where Gibbs though he could intimidate anyone into anything just by standing over them. He stood up himself, eye to eye with his boss.

"You don't know me. You don't know anything," he hissed. Gibbs clenched his jaw and Tony could almost see his reining in his temper.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Gibbs asked, and if Tony didn't know better he might have described the tone as pleading. _Too much. Too much_. Tears pricked in his eyes and he turned around, slamming his fist into the wall and leaving red blood stains.

"Who was I going to tell?" he asked quietly. "What was I going to say? I'm a cop getting beat up by his five-foot-two ninety-five pound girlfriend? Gee, that sounds fun and all but I think I'll pass," he spat furiously.

"You should have told us," Gibbs said softly.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind for next time." Why did they have to find out? He was being _so _careful, trying _so hard_ to keep everything okay. And he was doing fine, fine, fine up until now.

"I – "

_"Tony!"_ Gibbs could not finish his sentence as Ziva burst through the door, flushed with reddened eyes. Tony turned away, face burning. "Tony, _ahavati sheli__. _Come here." And before he could say anything she was wrapping him up in her arms, holding him so tightly he thought she might not let him go. "You should have said something! I am sorry, Tony, I am so sorry. I should have noticed. I am so sorry, Tony. I should have protected you better," she said feverishly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. He cupped her face and pressed a loose strand of hair behind her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. A single tear fell, landing on her cheek. She reached up, wiping it away.

"I will never let that evil bitch hurt you again," she vowed, standing on her toes to kiss his forehead. She threw her arms around him again, so happy to have him there in her arms wonderfully, joyfully_, blessedly _alive.

* * *

Toda - Thank you.

Ahavati sheli - My love, my darling


	8. VII: Пленный Принц

VII: Пленный Принц

_(pleni prince)_

_(The Captive Prince)_

* * *

_I said I wouldn't,_

_dammit: No tears._

_I'm stone. I'm flesh. _

_Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa_

* * *

She didn't feel bad when he begged for his life.

She watched with unforgiving eyes, head cocked slightly to one side and flecks of blood incarnadine on her porcelain skin. A breeze was coming in through the open window, and she had enjoyed the look on his face as he realized that even though he was screaming, no one was coming for him. Not that they should have. He didn't deserve mercy, didn't deserve their pity and sympathy. Not like she did. Not when she had waited so patiently all this time for _just the right chance_.

She pulled her hair into a ponytail and wrinkled her nose. Ugh. The cigarette smoke was all in her hair now, making her stink. She absentmindedly rubbed her right wrist, rubbing her thumb over the little round burn scar. So long ago and still there. _God_. She came from her daze as he reached to touch her golden hair. A soft plea for help tumbled out of his cracked, dry lips.

She smirked. He had been stupid in his love for the country. Stupid in other things too, but the country would in the end with his damnation, with her as anathema. She rather liked the sound of that; _Anathema_. It was a pretty word for an ugly thing. It sounded like an untrue accusation to her, like a song of lost justice.

_Anathema_. She could rechristen herself, perhaps, take that. It sounded pretty, didn't it? Ended in an _a_, feminine. So good for a girl. _He_ had imposed Katrina on her, and she had never really liked it so terribly well. The way he said it, like a caress. It felt like being caressed with sandpaper, listening to him say her name. She had never liked Katrina. Especially after New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina, they would call her now. She didn't like it. Except with Tony – but that again was different. He called her Kat. She liked _Kat_. It was cute, and sly, a private joke. That was the only time she liked Katrina.

"Why?" he asked softly, lying and staring at the blood. She tensed, shoulders rising up to her ears. His voice, a crash-bang sound to hurt her ears. She wondered if they would bleed, to mix their blood and scooted away from him, shuddering. Ugly messy dirty _bad_ thing.

"You _know_ why," she growled, taking a deep breath and bringing her face right down to his. The blood got on her clothes and she frowned slightly. Gross. Bloodstains were a bitch to get out. And he smelled _so bad_.

"I loved you," he insisted, reaching up to touch her face. Fear. It released into her for the first time since it had all begun, and she nearly screamed to have it so close. She grabbed his hand, twisting hard. When he screamed again she smiled, listening to the sweet melody. A scream, the only pretty sound that could possibly come out of him, useless lump of flesh of dust.

"Love. Love is funny word for what you did to me," she mused, letting his hand go and watching it twitch by his side. "Or do you only understand love insofar as sex? Because that's how I see it. You fucked me and thought it was a good thing. I was _twelve_," she growled, kicking his stomach. "Twelve, goddammit! I could barely menstruate. I wasn't even wearing a training bra. And the pictures. You had to take the pictures, show all your little sicko buddies." She pressed the heel of her boot against his throat, shaking with fury.

"I love you, Katrina," he said imploringly. "You were always such a wonderful woman. You are so beautiful, you know," he added, touching her leg. Tears pricked in her eyes and she set her jaw.

She remembered. Of course she remembered. They thought maybe just maybe she didn't, but she did. His hands under her clothes just sitting there watching TV supposed to be innocent don't know don't tell Adam jealous of the presents she got during the visits she would bite her lip and promise herself This Time I Will Not Cry. . . .

"Sorry, Uncle John." She pulled out the knife and listening to the gurgling sound that came forth as he chocked on his blood. Then the blood was gushing out, staining the carpet a deep red. She sat in silence as he screamed and reached to touch her long blond hair one last time.

* * *

Tony sighed, unable to drink the latte before him. His stomach was churning, and now that the truth was out all he could think about was his shame, and the way it weighed on his like the air had turned to lead. Would they ever see him the same way again . . . _tainted _by this weakness? How would they expect him to do his job after Katrina, after he had shown himself incompetent to handle a weak little girl like her?

He grimaced and held the cup tighter. Could Ziva love someone like him, someone who had allowed himself to fall so hard? He wished she could. He hoped she could. He wanted her to. He wanted to lie in her arms until this all became a shadow of memory, until he didn't know Katrina from Eve. He wanted to be numb, no more pain in these veins. He clutching the cup, crushing in the top.

"Stop punishing your cup, Tony," Ziva chided gently, reaching across the table and rubbing his wrist. "You will break it if you hold it any tighter."

Truth be told, she was worried about him. He seemed so shaken and even . . . lost. Like his whole life had been pulled out from under his feet without warning. Her heart ached to watch him like this; she loved him. She could admit it now, if only to herself. She loved him, and she would have done anything to comfort him, to take that sad look off his face. She wanted to take him in her arms, make it all disappear.

"Sorry," he mumbled, putting the cup on the table. He looked out the window, completely lost to the world. She wanted to grab his face and make him look at her so she knew she wasn't losing him. _Maybe coffee was not such a good idea after all_, she thought worriedly. Gibbs had sent them out, but Gibbs had the emotional competence of a seventeen year old boy.

"Talk to me, Tony," Ziva said softly, resisting the urge to put her hand on his arm. He didn't respond and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She couldn't stand this silence, this nothing. She wished she could open his head and see all the things he was thinking, all the images so she could know and help without forcing him through the pain of telling her. Because she couldn't stand to see Tony this way, hurting like this and her not only powerless to stop it, but perhaps even adding to it. Her heart beat in her throat. "Please, Tony," she begged, tightly lacing her fingers together under the table.

"What do you want me to say, Ziva?" he countered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what you want to know."

"_Adonai, _Tony, I do not know either! I want you not to hurt," she said, searching for the right words to balance her desires against his. "Tell me what I can do to make you not hurt." Were those the right words? Would he understand her, let her in? That was all she wanted, really. The chance to help him . . . he was ignoring her again. He was looking out the window, looking upset. Or no. Stricken, maybe. He was white. He looked like he would be sick now. She frowned. _What is in your head, Tony? _

"Don't go home tonight," he said suddenly sitting up bolt straight and looking her right in the eye. "Go somewhere else. Anywhere else." He grabbed her hand, holding tightly. She knitted her eyebrows.

"Of course, Tony." _Comfort him first._ "But why . . ." She was confused. Why was it suddenly so important that she not go home? Did he think . . . (And now her heart dropped into her stomach as the thoughts screamed through her brain) but did he think Katrina might attack _her_?

"If anything happened to you . . . because of me . . ." He looked so scared, like a little boy. She ached to take it all away for him, take him in her arms and suck it out. Do whatever he needed her to do to save him.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Tony," she said, twisting their hands so she was now holding his instead. He sighed.

"I should have . . ." He hunched his shoulders and growled under his breath. "Dammit! It's only a matter of luck that nothing has happened to you already. She was jealous you. I can't believe I'm so stupid," he moaned, staring at the table. He was pulling out her hands, gripping the coffee cup again. Ziva took it from him.

"Don't break the cup, Tony. I will be fine," Ziva reassured him, rubbing his arm in a way that she hoped was soothing. She didn't have much practice at helping emotionally distressed people, and was vaguely aware that she wasn't very good at it. Although that might have come from working for Gibbs for so long.

"Shh, Tony," she whispered. "Everything is going to be fine. She will not hurt you or me. Ever again." He was staring into her eyes again, almost as if searching for something. He looked tired suddenly, as if all the events of the past twenty-four were finally all catching up with him at once. She remembered sleeping with him the night before, remembered the nightmares. Remembered so many things . . .

"I hope so," he whispered darkly.

"Let us go back to work. We should talk to Gibbs. Form a plan of action," she said rationally. He nodded, and they rose, shuffling into winter coats and scarves. He was not looking forward to this. How many people knew by now? How as he going to deal with their _sympathy_ and all their pitying looks? He couldn't stand sad eyes. Hated them when his father disinherited them, hated them now. He was strong, dammit. He had showed _restraint, _worrying about breaking _her_. He didn't need their pity. "And Tony?"

"Yeah?" he grunted, snapping out of his thoughts. Ziva looked at him for a long minute, seeming to make some sort of decision. "What?"

"Later, you will tell me everything," she said. And somehow he knew that that was exactly what would happen.

* * *

His first thought was _Not Tony. _It was such a gut reaction, so relentlessly drilled in him. It didn't simply didn't make sense. Things like this didn't happen to Tony. Tony was strong, Tony teased him for kicks. If Tony could fall, what was there for the rest of them? How could Tony fail – Tony, who would seem to have survived even death.

It couldn't possibly be Tony – Tony was the best of them, he wasn't going to let someone kick him around like that. But then McGee was reading the medical records, and bitter memories were floating around his head and well, it seemed pretty clear that it was, in fact, Tony. And it was frightening, because it Tony could fall almost nothing was sacred. The only thing that he could that of that would be scarier was if it had been Gibbs. So McGee looked up, meeting Gibbs's solemn eyes. The table was silent, Gibbs looking angry as Abby and Ducky stared at the cold documents drenched in hot shock.

"This is quite distressing, Jethro," Ducky said, frowning at the records. "An epidural hematoma? Tony could have died," he said gravely. "And look at all these other ones from before. She almost broke his arm – and he could have bled out if this cut on his torso was just a little deeper," he mused, furrowing his brow. Gibbs looked down, and McGee noticed. _Shame_. His world was unraveling, slowly disappearing under his feet. Everything was all inside out. Strange. He flashed back to high school English. _Macbeth – fair is foul and foul is fair . . . _

"I know, Duck," he said softly. Ducky didn't seem to notice, too absorbed in the record.

"Really, this _woman – "_ He spat it, like others would a stronger word. A shaking fury was dancing behind his eyes and it occurred again to McGee that he had never _really _seen Ducky get angry and for that it was rather frightening, almost. Ducky glowered darkly. _ "_She would have murdered him without even knowing it! It's a good thing she never thought about taking Tony's gun or anything, he could have – "

"Alright, I get it! I screwed up," Gibbs shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet. The chair fell, clattering against the floor. Abby winced and McGee reached under the table to squeeze her hand. She gave a small smile, grateful and sad.

The fluorescent lights glared down, illuminating from behind Gibbs and making him look like some sort of avenging angel with that icy fire behind his eyes. McGee shuddered. He would not like to be on the wrong end of Gibb's anger right now, he looked like he wanted blood. Not that would surprise him if it were true, because Gibbs was a force to be reckoned with if anyone touched his friends – his _family_ – no matter how poorly he himself treated them under other circumstances.

"Can I give Tony a hug when I see him?" Abby asked tentatively, looking unhappily at the papers. Gibbs shifted his weight uncomfortably. He shoved his hand in his pockets then took them out again. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. And again, McGee was unsettled by the perversity of it all.

"I don't know, Abs. I don't even know if he'll be too happy about of you knowing about it – but," He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Pausing. Looking for the right words. "But I thought it was pertinent to the case. Maybe you should ask him first. I don't know." Abby didn't look very satisfied with the answer.

Truthfully, they were all rather uncomfortable with Gibbs's obvious displeasure, his lack of direction. They were so used to his guidance that his uncertainty left them all adrift. More sighs. Papers passed around. Discomfort, worried thoughts. All thinking one monotonous thing: _Tony. _In the end, they were family. This was what family did. They helped each other. Tony would not want for ears or hands.

The shriek of a cell phone pierced the silence. There was a frantic grabbing, and they a tense silence as it stopped.

"Yeah. Gibbs," he barked gruffly, grateful for the distraction. "What's going on?"

"Tony and I are coming in now," Ziva reported, taking the driver's seat and feeling a little worried when Tony failed to protest. Usually Tony was accusing her of making threats on his life at this point. _Where are you, _she wondered. She tightened her grip around her cell phone.

"How's he doing?" Gibbs asked tentatively. There was a pause. Ziva glanced at Tony, and if he noticed she couldn't tell. He was totally in another world, and she hoped that it wasn't with Katrina, wasn't with all those bad memories.

"Quiet," she finally answered. "I am not sure if this is good." Gibbs winced and then regretted it as his team members tensed. _They're looking to you, keep it together. They need you. _He nodded, then felt stupid because _obviously _ Ziva couldn't see him. Another sigh.

"Thanks Ziva. We're all waiting and ready. I've briefed Ducky, McGee and Abby," he reported.

"What about Vance?" she asked, genuinely surprised. Gibbs cringed slightly. That was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He couldn't really deal with Vasshole, not with Tony like this. He mentally swore.

"Yeah, I'll get on it," he grumbled reluctantly. God, he was putting Tony through the ringer today. He wished he could do more. This wasn't exactly the treatment Tony needed after everything he must have already been through . . .

"Alright. We will see you soon." Ziva hung up the phone and glanced at Tony, staring absentmindedly out the window. One hand was on his thigh, the other still gripping that coffee cup. She took a deep breath to brace herself, and then hesitantly reached across the way and put her hand on his.

He turned to look at her, startled. She was staring straight ahead, eyes on the road. But she squeezed his hand and he would admit that the warmth and weight were comforting. What he really wanted to do was not go back to work, not face this right now but he knew he would have to sooner or later and it might as well be sooner and he had to, _had to _protect Ziva. He let go of the coffee cup and flipped his hand to come up under hers and lace their fingers together. She said nothing, but a small smile graced her pink lips.

"Thank you, Ziva," he said softly, looking at their hands and thinking about how nice he thought they looked together. She squeezed his hand again.

"For you Tony, of course," she responded. The ride was quiet, both thinking of each other. Tony closed his eyes and leaned back, trusting Ziva for once. He figure that she couldn't get him killed today. It just wouldn't be fair to survive all that only to be killing by a silly little car.

They pulled into the NCIS parking lot, and with great reluctance he let go and they headed inside. His heart was in his stomach, and he could feel the throb of blood. His face felt hot, and he wondered if they could see his thoughts written all over his face. And maybe that was a good thing, because he didn't have the right words to give meaning to the thoughts in his head. He silently followed Ziva.

"Hey, Tony," McGee said softly as they entered. Ziva could have sworn she actually _felt_ it when Tony stopped behind her. The surrounding air seemed to still. She turned around, struggling to stay neutral. Tony was giving McGee a funny look, and she could discern that he wasn't pleased. The opposite of pleased, actually.

"You _know_," Tony hissed furiously. McGee's eyes widened and he backed up a little.

"I don't –"

"Don't lie to me." It was command. McGee opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and closed it again. He glanced down at his desk, reconsidering his words.

"I'm sorry," he said, wincing at the look Tony responded with. He took a step back as Tony leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk. Ziva's eyes widened and she put a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Tony, take a breath," she instructed. Tony ignored her, not even sparing a look.

"I don't need your pity, and I don't need your condemnation," he spat. McGee held up his hands.

"I'm not looking down on you, Tony. It could have happened to anyone." He moved to put a hand on his shoulder, then seemed to think better of it and let his arms drop. "I mean – let me know if you want to talk or anything."

"Who else knows?" he interjected, visibly struggling to keep himself under control. Ziva squeezed his shoulder gently. _Take a breath, Tony. Take it in_.

"Just Abby and Ducky. For the case. And I guess Vance. I think Gibbs is breiefing him right now," McGee said, cringing at the look Tony gave him.

"I have to go." Tony finally broke out of Ziva's grip, storming towards the elevators. Ziva shot McGee a murderous glare and took off after him. He would not be able to run away from her this time.

"Tony!" she called, swinging into the doors just as the elevator was about to close. He was staring there, silent and upset. She sighed and stood looking at him as the doors shut and the elevator began to move. Suddenly he reached out and Ziva jumped as he slammed the stop button. The sirens wailed and he sunk down, still silent as he sat on the floor. Ziva walked over and sat down next to him, and for a moment they remained quiet before he spoke.

"The first thing they'll ask is why I stayed," Tony said quietly, sitting down and staring at his lap. Ziva gave him a funny look, but sat down next to him, not looking at him either. She felt that it was making it easier for him somehow, although she was not sure why.

"Do you have an answer?" she asked when he failed to speak again. There was a shrug. A long pause. Maybe a minute. Maybe longer. It was hard to track time in a sealed off little room like this.

"Have you even noticed how often in movies, or on TV, a girl slaps a guy across the face and it's perfectly acceptable?" he commented. Ziva frowned.

"Only now that you mention it," she replied honestly, trying to figure out what he was getting at. She wished he would not be quite so cryptic. She wanted to know _now_. She took a deep breath, trying to be patient. She would get nowhere upsetting him.

"We're conditioned to think it's normal when a girl hits a guy," Tony continued. "So I didn't think it was a big deal. It's not like she beat me with a fire poker on the first date." A sick laugh. She shuddered, feeling the goosepimples creep up her arms.

"I am sorry, Tony," she said again, touching his hand again. "I wish that I could take away all your pain. I wish I could make it unhappen," she said unhappily.

"I know." And that seemed like there was all there was to say. After a few moments Ziva pressed the button again, and Tony did nothing to stop her. They got out in the bullpen to worried faces trying to hide it.

"DiNozzo. David," Gibbs greeted them with a nod. Vance was standing beside him, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Boss," Tony replied. A beat of silence (was that becoming the theme of the day? Ziva sure hoped not. She was tired of silence, that dead thing). And then Abby flew across the way, knocking into Tony and throwing her arms around him.

"I am _so happy _you're okay," Abby said, burying her face in his chest and inhaling deeply. Tony patted her back awkwardly.

"Glad to be okay," he said with a small laugh. Vance sighed and stepped forward, too uncomfortable with their ease with each other and his otherness among them.

"Agent DiNozzo, we're going to have you stay with Officer David until further notice," Vance reported. A panicked look crossed Tony's face and he tore himself away from Abby.

"Katrina will go after her," he said, suddenly pale. "We have to stay somewhere else. If anything happened to her because of me – "

"Well where do you suggest you stay?" Vance questioned sharply, seemingly perturbed at the unplanned change

"They'll stay with me," Gibbs said firmly. No one argued with him, and he was grateful. He needed to do this. He owed Tony for not protecting him, for not seeing the details and putting them all together. For not doing the algebra. Ziva and Tony were his team. He would protect them this time. No matter what.

"Boss . . ."

"Be quiet, DiNozzo. I'll be taking you and David to pick up some things now," he said, briskly walking towards he elevators. Tony and Ziva exchanged looks, unmoving. "Now!" And they were jumping to attention, running to catch up with him and both thinking with rushing minds about the night to come and if it could possibly be anything like the one before.

* * *

Hey guys! So for last chapter I didn't get half as many reviews as the one before . . . very sad. Things are going to get crazy again as school picks up. I'll try to kep updating, but please please please review! I love getting your feedback, it gives me such happiness to know you're enjoying this crazy ride I'm taking you on. The more you review, the more I write. Please review, it really makes my day to see those little emails pop up in my inbox. Thank you so much for all your encouragement and giving me a forum for the fun of writing this. Thank you!


	9. VIII: Le Monstre

_VIII: __Le Monstre_

_(The Monster)_

* * *

_Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster._

_- __Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900)_

_

* * *

_

"_Am I my brother's keeper?" _

_Cain, Genesis 4:9_

* * *

Adam considered himself a simple sort of guy. Get up, get dressed, run out and embrace the day. You never knew when you were going to die, so you had to take it all in now while it was still pure and virgin fresh. _Carpe Diem – _seize the day. Horace, if he remembered his Latin poets correctly.

He was eager, grasping. Life was ahead of him, waiting for him to arrive and take it – which he fully planned to do to the best of his ability. He grinned to himself, whistling as he came down the stairs. As he passed a photograph of Katrina, his grin flickered slightly and he felt compelled to stop.

It was a time ago, back when they were teenagers. They were in Arizona, visiting Uncle John and Aunt Cora, before she died and he moved to Poolesville. Katrina was sitting next their aunt, her smile tight. She was wearing long sleeves and baggy jeans, even though the rest of them were in shorts and t-shirts.

He remembered how hot it was under the Midwest sun, how sweat trickled down the back of his neck and made his shirt cling uncomfortably. He remembered how they were "vampires", coming out only at night because it was so hot during the day. But still Katrina had insisted she was cold, even though she fainted twice and that second time they were _so scared_, rushing her to the hospital with heat stroke.

And still and sill and still!

Stubborn Katrina would her baggy, covering clothing. She was utterly miserable that spring break, and he remembered seeing her crying once, when she was in her room by herself. She never went back. She went with her school on trips over spring break from then on, insisting that she needed to broaden her global horizons. Their parents had been reluctant, but Katrina was adamant and under the best of circumstances she was a force to be reckoned with and their parents were pushovers, want to give in with only a slight pressing. And Katrina was _slamming_; his sister was a force of nature.

He always felt bad about that. Katrina never seemed to really fit in with the family. She avoided gatherings like the plague, shutting herself in her room and blasting screaming music when they were younger and not showing up at all when they were older. And when asked about it, she would return with a bitter, laughing _you would never understand _and then return to her self-imposed isolation.

He wondered if there was something he could have done to help, something that might have prevented her from becoming a serialkiller (he shuddered thinking the words and wondered where things had gone so terribly wrong to twist her so and was that his fate, lurking in some dark corner to ambush him?). He hoped that poor guy DiNozzo was okay. He'd only met him once, back when they were dating or whatever (he had never been terribly clear on the exact nature), but he did recall how Katrina had treated him with God-like reverence.

Later, he remembered her talking about him having some sort of power of her, being a magnet. Most vividly he remembered how bitterly she spoke of feeling _controlled_, feeling like he had something over her. Her voice, so full of anger and resentment and strikingly _fear, _which scared him because Katrina never, _ever_ was frightened. The one thing he could always say about his little sister was that nothing scared her; Katrina defined fearlessness, a streak of yellow and white running off into the next adventure.

She swam in the ocean in the middle of winter once, just on a dare. She jumped across an alley another time, and he remembered watching her sail from building to building, dangling in midair, a jewel hanging on the cheek of night. In retrospect, she should have died. You weren't supposed to jump off a two-story building and live, even jumping to the building across the way. People just weren't that lucky.

And now here he was, the big brother who failed to protect his little sister. Had turned her in, as a matter of fact. He had sold her out when he should have protected her, and he wondered what someone else would have done in his situation. Part of him (and he was pretty sure it was the moral part, the _right _part) believed that there was no other thing to do: his sister or not, what she was doing was immoral.

But then there was the other part, the tug of fraternal obligation. What would their parents think if this went to court, if he was asked to testify? And _who _would he testify for anyway? Would they support her unconditionally, or back him? And if they didn't back him, would they turn against him?

Adam swallowed shakily and sat on the stairs. Now his stomach was churning, hurting him. He wished Katrina was there so he could explain it all to her, beg her forgiveness. He considered heading to the church. He wasn't a particularly religious man, and he wasn't a Catholic, but sometimes he would go down the street to St. Mary's and slip into the confessional.

There was a certain catharsis in talking to a priest, he found. The burden of guilt was eased off his shoulders, entrusted in someone who would offer guidance and not betray him or belittle him. Sometimes simply giving the words breath made it all clear in his head, in a way that talking aloud to himself didn't provide. Actually, he tended to feel rather ridiculous when he talked to himself. No need to repeat things if he was alone, right?

He frowned when the doorbell rang suddenly. He hadn't been expecting anyone right now. Slowly, he got up and approached the door. He closed one eye and leaned forward, staring through the peephole. He was shocked to see Katrina, her eyes red and flecks of blood in her hair and on her face. She either took no notice or didn't care, taking to precautions to hide the blood.

He looked her up and down and with a sick feeling noticed other dark stains on her black boots and brown pants. _Are those bloodstains_? He felt like he might vomit. He opened his cell phone and dialled 911, but didn't send. He placed in on a nearby table, and wrapped his hand around a small statue, prepared to hit her if it came to that. With a deep breath, Adam opened the door.

"Katrina," he said with steady fake surprise. She sniffed and blinked, tears leaking out her eyes. She looked like a child, tiny as she was already. Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. He allowed it, standing there as she muffled her sobs against him, hot tears wetting his shirt. Carefully, he put a hand on her back and gently rubbed circles, making sure to breathe steadily so he could work up a scream if he needed too.

"I did a bad thing," she whispered, looking up at him through dark, glistening lashes. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her shirtsleeve, looking distressed. "I'm sorry, Adam." And his hand was reaching to the statue again, preparing to hit her. _I'm sorry too, Kat. . ._

"Kat –"

"You need to get out of town for a while," she continued, either failing to notice his interjection or blatantly ignoring it, he wasn't sure which. His grip loosened on the statue.

"Why?" he asked. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She shuddered and he wondered what sort of images were running behind her eyes, torturing her. He couldn't decide if he was terrified of her or if he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and tell her everything was going to be ok.

"Don't ask me that," she finally said. "Just trust me and tell me you'll leave, okay? I couldn't stand it if you got mixed up in all this. This thing I did." A distant look, silent tears. She was just so very _pathetic_, standing in his doorway a mess, falling to little pieces in front him. But he had never been very good at jigsaw puzzles.

"I can't help you." It was meant to be a question, but it was more a statement. She nodded though, looking mournful and pleading.

"Please, Adam," she whispered. "Please go away. Stay with a friend for a little while. There are some bad things coming, and you don't need to go down with me," she begged. "You won't have to change your name, the hospital thinks I'm Katrina Larsdotter, not Hansdotter, so I can use that. Protect you in that small way, maybe," she mused. He was silent, but put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped away with near violent force.

"Kat!" he said, eye widened at her reaction. She shook her head and hugged herself tightly, shaking.

"I'm fine, Adam. Just go away!" she yelled imploringly. "Pack a bag and _go away_. I'll never forgive myself it they go after you. So leave!" she screamed. She was crying, falling apart. So he finally did what seemed to be the only thing he _could _do.

"Okay." And then it was so fast, packing a bag and setting everything in place in the house and her hovering agitatedly the entire time. And he wasn't afraid, didn't fear her turning on him. He could hardly believe it when she was escorting him to his car and waving him off, looking a strange juxtaposition of worried and relieved. And all he planned to do was go to a friend's house in the area and call that Gibbs guy and tell him everything that had just happened.

_Sorry, Katrina. If this were the Bible, I would be Cain, _he thought apologetically. His cell phone was heavy in his pocket, and he had a suspicion he would not sleep tonight.

* * *

Under different circumstances, Gibbs would be happy DiNozzo had finally learned to sit down and shut up. Usually he was running his mouth a mile a minute, driving them all absolutely crazy. Tony probably should have sustained significant head damage by now from Gibbs slapping him upside the head so often (but what else was he supposed to do? Nothing else got DiNozzo's attention!).

Any other night it was lack of silence that infuriated him; tonight the _silence_ made him angry. He wanted to shake Tony, demand responses and words and thoughts. What was Tony thinking? How was he handling this? How not okay was he? Should Gibbs be worried?

He glanced next to him, but Tony's face was disturbingly neutral. Ziva, meanwhile, he could see squirming agitatedly in the rear view mirror. She kept twisting her hands and tapping her feet, and a couple of times she opened her mouth but then just as quickly shut it. She either didn't have words or she had too many and couldn't sort them all out in any reasonable fashion. He understood the feeling, that urge to fix something and being helpless in doing so. Ziva sighed again and Gibbs took a deep breath. _Keep it together. You can't fail them now._

"I live here," he said awkwardly as they pulled up to the house. Ziva nodded and Tony blinked.

"It's nice," Tony commented distantly. Ziva jumped out of the car and swung around to the trunk, getting both their bags. Gibbs saw Tony tighten his jaw and narrow his eyes, and he had the sinking feeling that maybe he should not have allowed Ziva to just do that.

"I can get my own bag, Zee-vah," Tony said, irritated. She shook her head and shouldered them decidedly. Gibbs lingered in the driver's seat, silent. He didn't want to further aggravate DiNozzo either way.

"It is fine, Tony," Ziva replied. She moved towards the house and Tony fully got out, slamming the door. He stood in Ziva's path and she blinked, surprised at his actions. "Tony?" she asked uncertainly. She could see the current of anger flickering under his skin, threatening to surface and unleash itself on her. She wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid_ for_ him. This _tension . . ._

"I'm not weak." There was a barely hidden fury and fear under the words. She could feel the undercurrent again, feel his distress reverberate in her bones. Gibbs frowned and came around the car just in time to see the way her gaze softened at Tony, her eye shining slightly.

"Neither am I," she replied. He wavered for a moment, but then he stepped aside and Gibbs felt himself release a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "Thank you." Ziva carried the bags into the house and Gibbs had the stirring feeling that it would not be a quiet night.

As they entered the house Gibbs flicked on the lights and they all winced at the brightness. Gibbs shuffled around, putting keys away as Ziva and Tony awkwardly stood, waiting.

"What?" he asked, sensing their discomfort. They looked at each other before looking at him.

"Where should I put the bags – "

"Where are we sleeping – "

They stopped and laughed awkwardly. Gibbs relaxed, and it struck him how he had missed laughter in the house, laughter of others. There hadn't really been much of that since Shannon and Kelly. He thought that Shannon might have liked having the house full of people again, young people. She probably wouldn't have liked how he had isolated himself now, how the house was always empty and quiet except for the dull blare of the radio when he was working on his boat. The new one. The nameless one.

"I've got a guest room and a pull out sofa. You decide," he answered. Ziva opened her mouth but Tony beat her.

"I'll take the pull out," he said quickly. Gibbs nodded. Fine. As long as he didn't have to decide for them. He had a brief flashback to policing a squabbling Kate and Tony a couple of years ago, feeling like a principle. He wondered what Kate would think of the current situation, what she would say about Ziva and more importantly about the mess DiNozzo had gotten himself into now. _She would be sad, _he decided. She would beat herself for not catching in earlier, just like the rest of them.

"It's in the living room," he told them. Tony's face lit up. It looked somewhat fake, and Gibbs couldn't decide if he was happy that Tony was making an effort to make the best of things or unhappy that he was masking his emotions.

"Alright! Late night movie marathon!" he cheered. He grabbed his bag from Ziva and bounded off. Ziva rolled her eyes and then stared after him, puzzlement written all over her usually neutral features.

"I am worried about him," she said at last, noticing Gibbs staring at her. Gibbs sighed.

"We all are," he replied. Another awkward pause. They weren't used to conversing so intimately, especially with the subject of conversation within hearing distance and so close to their hearts. The situation weighed heavily on both of them. Ziva shifted her weight and Gibbs felt compelled to break the silence. "Guest room's upstairs. Make yourself comfortable. I'll find something for dinner."

After a moment Ziva nodded and headed up the stairs. Gibbs could hear Tony channel surfing in the living room, and he was secretly grateful for the gentle noise that filled the silence. The problem with having three law enforcements officers in one house was that they weren't emotionally competent people; really couldn't be to survive the job. And so they didn't talk about it, didn't say anything about what they were going through. Even when they probably should. Even when they _needed _to.

Gibbs decided this was good time to find pizza menu.

* * *

Ziva sometimes thought that maybe she needed to sit down and have a long conversation with Abby about physical contact. It might do her some good, she thought, if she would learn how to do Abby-hugs so people would stop thinking she was cold and unemotional. Because she considered herself a nice person and she _did_ have emotions, thankyouverymuch.

She just didn't like to have emotions at work because she had grown up in a man's world, and tears were weakness there. And she wouldn't be able to stand people underestimating her. That had happened enough when she younger, when she was short and skinny and people thought they could bully her. Then she learned all the lovely uses of the paper clip and her life got significantly easier.

"Hey," Tony said softly, appearing in her doorway. She smiled at him and set her bag on the bed.

"Tony," she greeted him. "How are you feeling?" He stiffened and for a moment she regretted her mouth, fearing she had said the wrong thing. _Stupid, stupid! _She was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge for Tali, who had always known exactly the right thing to say. Tali was her opposite, a people person. She tried to think of what Tali would have said so she _could _have those right words, but then he relaxed again and she secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Been better," he admitted with a wry grin. "How are you though? I mean, I kind of sprung a death threat on you." He gave a choking laugh and she winced.

"Lots of people make threats on my life, Tony. I cannot be expected to keep track of them all," she said dismissively. There was pained look on his face and she wondered if it wasn't too late to go downstairs and ask Gibbs to slap her upside the head.

"Yeah, but Katrina is right here," he said softly, worriedly. He was rubbing the back of his neck, staring at the floor. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him but refrained.

"Katrina is not going to hurt me," Ziva scoffed. "And Tony," She was hesitating, choosing her words with great care. She crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She _will not_ hurt you either." It was more than a statement; it was a vow. And he took in seriously.

God, he was bad. With every second he was falling harder and faster in love with her, wanting her so badly it hurt. And it was absolutely terrifying. It was terrifying because he was so afraid that he would hurt her, or get her hurt.

He was afraid of Katrina coming after her in the night, a malevolent phantom, to kill her quietly as they slept. He was afraid that he would do something wrong, break her somehow because Ziva was strong but she couldn't be invulnerable and he seemed to have a talent for breaking things as it was.

And most of all it was because he felt like every time he began to feel a little happy, it got pulled out from under him. He got people _killed all the time_. All his female partners got killed. Ziva's number had been up from the moment they met.

"How do you know that?" he asked, looking at her with those eyes and wanting so badly to believe but struggling, failing. She delicately put her hands on his face and held it so he would look her in the eyes.

"I know you," she whispered. "I know you, Tony. You are my partner – and you are my friend. I know you, and I know that some unworthy little snitch is not going to end you. You are not so easily taken care of, my Tony," she said with a small laugh. He blinked.

"It's bitch, not snitch," he said, unable to process the entire statement. His head was spinning, too many things in it. _Did she just call me __**her**__ Tony?_

"I was trying to be polite. Being in Gibbs's house makes me feel like a little girl in her father's home again," Ziva said, giggling. He grinned mischievously.

"Then I probably shouldn't do this, should I?" And then he was kissing her, so sweet and soft. She gasped softly into his mouth, and after a half-second of hesitation he was snaking his tongue into her mouth. She responded in turn, bringing up her arms and burying her hands in his hair. He put his hands on her waist, holding her close to him.

He tasted like sweet mint, and she wondered if he had been planning this all along. Maybe he was just trying to get her back into bed with him. She considered the possibility for a minute, then decided she didn't really care even if that was the case. She would rather have him for a few nights than never at all. As it was it was taking all her self-control to not slam him against the wall and wrap her legs around his waist. Damn Gibbs and his rules, she couldn't remember even wanting anything so much.

Tony was struggling not to throw her into the bed and take her right then and there. He had never needed anything so badly. He just wanted to be consumed, wanted to be overwhelmed by her. She tasted so good, like the chocolate they had shared as a snack that afternoon. Her lips were sweet with cherry chapstick, and he reflected on how one of the best things about Ziva was that she didn't hide all her natural beauty under layers and layers of makeup. She was so real, so warm and there in his arms and God, his control was not going to last much longer and sirens were screeching in his head.

_Stop Tony._

_Stop, Tony._

_Stop, Tony!_

He pulled away from her with near violent force, exerting a great effort. She stared at him with surprise, her lips red and swollen from his teeth and her eyes glittering just slightly. She wasn't hiding, she was vulnerable with him and he stood there, feeling like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Tony?" she asked in an uncertain, small voice. "Are you alright?" Was this bringing back too many bad memories? Had she done something wrong? He crossed the room and pushed a piece of hair back from her face. She flinched.

"I'm not going to use you like this, Ziva," he said softly. "You've been too good to me. You don't deserve this," he said. She felt her heart clawing to get out of her chest. _Say it, Ziva. Just tell him. _

"It is fine, Tony." She was being a coward. _Say it! _"I do not mind comforting you." Swallow. _Say it! _"I – I _want _to," she whispered. There. It was out in the air, real. Her breath was hitching in her throat and her heart pounding wildly. She wished Tony would say something instead of just standing there with wide deer-eyes.

"I'm going to take you out when this is all over," he said, putting his hands decisively on her shoulders. She stared up at him through her lashes, the rays of hope daring to push through to the surface. "On a date." He hoped she had meant that offer as he took it, that he wasn't making a stupid guess. But she smiling and wrapping her arms around his shoulders and standing on her tip-toes so they were almost eye level.

"I would like that." And then they were kissing again, lost and in love and clinging desperately, trying to pull the other away from the scary world. Fragile, frozen and powerless but defiant, _living_ in spite of everything. _Alive_.

Gibbs lingered in the hallway, trying to decide what to do. On the one hand, they were breaking his rules. On the other, he couldn't really bring himself to pull them apart with everything they were dealing with right now. Certainly he knew the feeling of comfort sex, sex that dulled your mind and the too-much thoughts in it. He had had a DiNozzo phase about six months after Kelly and Shannon died, deciding that the best way to move on was to sleep with anything in a skirt that was over eighteen and moved. He understood, he did. And so he turned away and hung up the phone. Let them be with each other. They hadn't come back as a nuisance after the undercover op, and he . . . he _trusted _them to be okay now.

Pizza, he mused, would wait another half-hour.

* * *

Wow guys! I really saw a lot of output last chapter, and I cannot thank you enough. Your support keeps me going; I tried to make this a fast update and it's a little longer than usual too. I hope you enjoy it, thanks again for staying with me on this ride. Please keep reviewing, again I love hearing your comments! Extra special thanks to all you first timers, I really saw a lot of new faces last chapter and it was incredibly exciting to hear so many new viewpoints. Thank you!


	10. IX: A History of Violence

_X: A History of Violence_

* * *

_The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven._

_John Milton_

* * *

She was going to get a conviction.

If it killed her, if she had to stay up all night, she was going to get a damn conviction. Abby was going to find the evidence, the damning evidence she needed to put Katrina Hansdotter away for good. She wished fervently that she could nail her for what she had done to Tony, but at the moment she would settle for implication in the murders.

Maybe it was for the best anyway. She would hate to put Tony through all that pain, all the testimony. She knew it was why more vics didn't come forward about stuff like this. Didn't want to relive the bad memories over and over. Which she understood as much as she could in a sort of distant, abstract way.

Abby sighed and continued running the evidence. Gibbs had requested that she try to find a way to implicate Katrina for abusing Tony (and even now she winced at the word _abuse) _but it was hard! She glanced at the clock. Almost nine.

She probably should go home. No normal person stayed at work this long. Well, okay, so she had stayed at work _much _later than that before (Hell, she had _fallen asleep_ at the office) but everyone else had gone home now, so it was different and she was tired and maybe she should just og to sleep . . .

"Abby?" She turned to the door with a start at the soft sound of McGee's voice. He was looking at her with worried, tired eyes, which she imagined to mirror her own. She offered him a sad smile and waved.

"Hey, Tim," she said softly, motioning for him to come in. He did, stopping before he got too close to her. She noticed but didn't say anything. Since the breakup it always seemed like they were in limbo, just slightly off kilter from each other. She missed their closeness. She missed him, sometimes. But she didn't say anything, just let it go, rolling off her with each day.

"Are you going to be here much longer?" he asked, glancing around at the whirring, buzzing machines. Abby shrugged.

"Probably," she conceded. He winced.

"That's not exactly healthy," he said disapprovingly. She crossed her arms and didn't meet his eye. _Who are you, my dad? _

"I'll be fine."

"Abby, go home."

"I don't want to. I want to stay right here," she insisted, turning back to her computer determinedly. She heard McGee groan unhappily behind her, and then there was the soft _fwump _of him putting down his briefcase. She turned around, looking at him in surprise.

"What are you doing?" she asked, cocking her head to one side and giving him a confused, suspicious look. He sat beside her at a computer.

"Making myself useful. If you're not going home I'm not going either. I can't leave you here all by yourself," he scoffed. Her gaze softened.

"That's sweet, Tim, I really it, but you really should go home. I don't need you to protect me," she said. He gave a doubtful look and she blushed. "Well, okay, so maybe I do need just a little protecting but not _really_, I'm a big girl. I have pepper spray now!" she exclaimed cheerily. McGee shook his head.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, glancing at the interface. Abby sat down and shrugged again. It would appear that she would not be winning this battle. Although secretly, she was a little glad for the company and even more secretly, she was glad for _his_ company.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what we can do, really. I mean, we're just waiting on a way to catch her, right?" Silence. McGee looked down at his shoes unhappily.

"Yeah." More silence. It wasn't quite _un_comfortable, but it certainly wasn't comfortable either. Unhappy silence.

"I can't believe it, you know," Abby said quietly. "I mean, it's Tony, right?" I didn't think that stuff like this happened to him. Which isn't to say it couldn't, or anything, or that he's not strong or whatever but like, it's _Tony_," she said, hoping that McGee could somehow untangle her garbled, senseless words. But he nodded, eyes shining with understanding.

"I know what you mean," he said with a heavy sigh. "Him and Ziva. Either one of them, I don't think I could ever believe. I can't believe Ziva even worked it out. I mean, I saw all the evidence she did and I didn't put two and two together," he said, frustrated. A blank moment, in which Abby made a decision. She took a slight breath and then tentatively put a hand on McGee's back, rubbing gentle circles. He relaxed into it and gave her a grateful smile.

"You're a good investigator, Tim," she said softly, making eye contact with him. "Don't let Gibbs or Tony or Ziva make you forget that. You're good at what you do."

"Yeah?" Something was shifting, something sleepy and ancient was moving oh so slowly under their feet, changing subtle positions but with profound implications. Moving soft. Moving careful. Moving, though. Like seismic plates moved half and inch and shattered into an earthquake, so did that one little word change so many things in the fleeting, delicate, snatch of a breath.

"Yeah." She kissed him, and surprised them both with her audacity. For so long, fighting so hard to stay away and now finding angry, hopeless comfort in old foreign arms. "I missed you," she whispered, pulling away for only a spinning fraction of a second.

"I missed you," he echoed. And he was all over her, flashes of want and need and the loneliness that throbbed in them both, pulsating just hot under the skin. She keened softly somewhere in the middle and then it was all over, so fast her head was spinning after and wait had that actually just _happened_?

"Sorry. Thank you," she said, pulling her skirt back down. Her breath was still hitching just slightly, the only sign that anything had occurred. He shrugged.

"I missed you," he said again. She looked at him with sad eyes.

"But now what?" Somewhere in the distance, a machine was beeping. Yet neither moved. Frozen in fragility.

Now what.

Now what indeed . . .

* * *

"Gibbs." Honestly, he wasn't sure why he was picking up. He was fairly certain it couldn't be anything he wanted to hear. Although maybe it was Abby. Maybe she had something. He wasn't optimistic, but he clung to hope. He always clung to hope. After everything he had been through, it was really the only thing he had left. The only other option was turn in and end it all – and that was not a thought that sat pleasantly with him.

"Hey, Agent Gibbs. It was Agent, wasn't it?" Adam asked nervously. His girlfriend intertwined her hand with his free one and he squeezed. _Thank God for Krystal._

"Yeah. This is . . . Adam Hansdotter?"

"Yeah! Um, Katrina – she's at my house right now, Agent Gibbs. She came over about half an hour ago, maybe? She was really upset. She – she was flecked in blood. I think she might – might have . . ."

"I understand." Goddammit, could criminal seriously not keep to themselves for more than a few seconds? He had really been hoping to leave Tony and Ziva well enough alone to erm, _comfort _each other but it appeared that that would not be happening. He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. It was going to be a long night. _Dammit._ "Thanks, Adam. We'll be in touch."

"Agent Gibbs." There was an uncertainty in the interjection that made Gibbs stop and take a breath. He needed to listen to the kid. Obviously there was something to said. Something that could be important.

"Yes?" he asked, more gently this time. There was an ambivalent pause, and then Adam seemed to make a decision.

"She's still my baby sister," he said quietly. "Don't – don't hurt her." Gibbs felt himself soften towards the younger man.

"We will do everything in our power." It was the best he had, the closest thing to a promise he could give. Adam seemed to take this in stride.

"Thank you." The line was finally silent and Gibbs closed the phone, tucking it into his pocket. _Time to go rouse the minions_. "David! DiNozzo!"

"Boss?" Their answer was simultaneous. They seemed to burst out of the bedroom like wayward schoolchildren and he eyed them with suspicion. The buttons on Tony's shirt weren't complete done, and Ziva's shirt was askance. Both of them were sporting red, swollen lips. _Well, at least everyone's dressed_.

"We're heading out. We got a tip on the girl. DiNozzo, you stay here. Ziva, you're coming with me," he ordered. Ziva nodded and straightened her blouse.

"I will be ready momentarily," she promised. Tony narrowed his eyes and threw a glare at Gibbs.

"You will do no such thing!" he bellowed furiously. Ziva froze for a minute, then with frightening silence and rigidity turned around again. Her look was a strange mixture of perplex and barely dammed anger.

"Excuse me?" she asked, mouth staying just a little open at the end. Tony looked for a moment as though he would back down, but in a blink it was gone, replaced with all the determination of a mountain.

"You are not going anywhere," Tony said, hands clenching in fists at his sides. Ziva seemed to almost snarl.

"You do not order me around, Tony!" she yelled. He set his jaw and stood his ground.

"I'm not letting you walk into the middle of danger, Ziva! She would kill you!" he said worriedly.

"Tony, I am a trained Mossad Assassin. I do not fear her," Ziva scoffed. His eyes flashed and Gibbs could have slapped himself as he realised too late it was exactly the wrong thing to let Ziva say.

"You don't _know_ her!" Tony hissed. "She'll get in your head, trick you. Make you think it's all ok and then suddenly attack. Boss, please!" Tony begged. There was a strain in his voice, a slight crack where it was clear he was on the verge of going down with the earth crumbling beneath his feet. Gibbs deliberated silently. It would be irresponsible to let Tony come with them. He was the one Katrina was targeting, for God's sake! But arguably for the same reason it was a bad idea to take Ziva. And he couldn't just take McGee, it was stupid to take only one agent . . .

"Call McGee. All of you are coming. And both of you are to be wearing bullet-proof vests at all times," he ordered. Tony didn't look entirely happy, but there was some relief colouring his face and he nodded eagerly enough.

"I do not need a bullet-proof vest," Ziva protested. "And Tony should not be coming at all! It is too dangerous!"

"Unfortunately, it's not a great option to really leave him here either. We're going to the house, you're both wearing bullet-proof vests. End of discussion. Now why hadn't either of you called McGee?"

* * *

McGee awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He groaned quietly but then quieted quickly as he remembered Abby sleeping beside him. Her long dark hair was spilling over their pillow, and he marvelled how her cot held them both so well. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone.

"McGee," he whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Ziva barked. McGee winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear. Trust Ziva to be too loud. Ugh. He carefully got off the cot.

"Abby's sleeping."

"Why are you with Abby?"

"We were just talking and we fell asleep, Ziva. It's late. Her lab is dark. There isn't much to do waiting for evidence. We were tired. Why do _you_ care?"

"I do not!" she said defensively. He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you calling me?" he finally asked. "It can't be to annoy me about where I'm sleeping."  
"Gibbs is coming to get you. We know where the girl is. We are going to arrest her," Ziva reported.

"Who's looking after Tony?" McGee asked, putting on his socks and shoes. There was a pause and it made him uncomfortable. "Ziva?"

"Gibbs is letting Tony come with us," she spat disdainfully. McGee winced. Oh, he was _glad _not to be Gibbs or Tony right now. God, he could only imagine the earful they much be getting.

"I'm sor – "

"And he making us wear bullet-proof vests! As if that is so great a protection! As though she is so stupid not to know that one can be shot in the head!" It seemed to burst out of her, and McGee could hear behind the indignation the panic and concern of a woman scared of losing someone close for not the first time. He sighed and hoped he could manage some damage control.

"Everything is going to be fine, Ziva. Gibbs knows what he's doing," McGee said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. There was silence on the other end of the line as he packed his bag and put on his coat, moving outside to wait for Gibbs. "Ziva?" he asked worriedly.

"I know you believe that." Cynical and angry and seemingly the best he was going to get out of her. He sighed and waited for the car.

He would never admit it, but Tony was scared. Katrina was one of the few things in his life to ever inspire such an emotion in him. _Perhaps she ought to get a medal_, he thought with bitter sarcasm. He gripped his fists angrily and felt like a teenager all over again, shut down by Dad. Only now Gibbs was dad, which was kind of worse because at least with his real father he had been able to trick him fairly well.

"Tony." He turned his head at the quiet sound of Ziva's voice. She smiled weakly at him and he attempted to return it. "It is all going to be fine."

_God_, he wanted her to be right!

"I know, Ziva," he answered with smooth, false confidence. She nodded and he resisted the urge to rest his head on her shoulder and try to find comfort in her warmth. Because that would be blatantly breaking rule twelve and honestly he didn't need Gibbs on his back right now too. The car remained silent as they pulled up to the NCIS building and McGee got in. Then there was silence and they mentally prepared their arrival in Bethesda and facing Katrina.

* * *

There was nothing to fear but fear itself.

So the story went.

Katrina took deep breaths even as the tears leaked out her eyes. The music was so beautiful, floating over her like this. Ethereal. Gossamer. Bach, _Moonlit Sonata_. One of her favourites, from when she was a little girl. She used to dance ballet, twirling round and round and dangling in the air, like a dream.

There was nothing to fear but fear itself.

She was sorry for what she had done to Tony and those two other poor men. How could she not be? She wasn't heartless. Not entirely, anyway. For John she was. She could have tortured him so much more, she could have. But she had to take things into her own hands, because the justice system was fucked up and after five years you couldn't persecute a rape and what was _wrong _with people? How could they deny her justice just because it took her so many years to face it enough to _say _anything? It wasn't fair.

Nothing to fear but fear itself.

She could have loved Tony, she supposed. Could have really made something with him. But in the end it didn't matter, because everything was ashes now. All fallen at her feet and disintegrating, becoming part of the dead earth. She would run in the morning, go somewhere far away where they would never find her and she could be free and different. No more bad things. No longer dirty.

Fear itself . . .

She walked over to the window and her eyes narrowed as she caught the faint outline of a car approaching the house. Was Adam expecting friends? Well, whatever. She would just send them home. The easy war or the hard way.

She took a handgun and tucked it into the back of her jeans before going down to the door. It was quiet. Too quiet, probably. Her breathing was the only thing she could hear, hot and ragged and unstable. Flashes before her eyes, too bright and too hard to look at, too much. Bad memories . . . no. Couldn't let that distract her right now. Had to focus, had to concentrate. Be calm. Be ready.

"Federal agents, open the door!" Traitor! Tony, sweet Tony had turned on her. Tony, who was supposed to be her saving grace! No, no, no! How had this happened? When had everything gone all wrong? Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, girl. She backed up the stairs and took out the gun. With shaking hands, she raised it and pointed.

_Perfect._

There was nothing to fear but fear itself.

So the story went.

"The door is open," she said with false sweetness. The agents burst through the door, guns pointed at her. She smiled sweetly. "Beat you to it."

Katrina Hansdotter's gun was pointed to her own temple.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys! If you have time, please check out my new story, _Tempest. _If you don't have time, completely understand too. Thank you so much for sticking with me this long!


	11. X: Natural and Common Logarithms

_X: Natural and Common Logarithms_

* * *

"_The Lord is my Shepherd – I shall not want._

_He maketh me to lie down in green pastures_

_He leadeth me beside still waters _

_He restoreth my soul._

_Ye though I walk in the Valley of the Shadow of Death_

_I shall fear no evil." _

_~ Psalm 23 (David's Psalm)_

* * *

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, unable to tear his eyes from her. The barrel looked so black against her pale, pale skin. She was sad and so very small . . . like a child, almost.

_Innocenza_.

He felt a sudden urge to protect her, and under other circumstances he would have darkly laughed aloud to himself, but given the situation found it more appropriate to keep his barking laughter within the confines of his head. _She got you good, Tony. She got you every time. Every time_, he thought angrily. _You are so whipped_. Demon-woman to haunt his nightmares. God, what was her _problem_?

"Shh, Tony," she whispered. He flinched at her voice. It had been almost a year and still there was this magnetism, this urge to go to her. He needed to break the habit, goddammit. She _would not _control him. She had enough of him already. Anymore what would be left for him?

"You killed those men." It was more statement that fact and now she flinched, drawing a hair back for a second and her eyes just a little wider than they were a second ago. Honestly, he was surprised to see a silvery hint of remorse in her them; for so long it had been fiend, monster and hell-demon. She had haunted him and now she was here and he felt almost . . . relieved, actually.

It happened.

It _had _happened. It was real. And he had been right to fear her because she was _dangerous_. More creature (cretin?) than human, a _thing_. And now she held a gun to her own temple and martyred herself, begging with those manipulative eyes to be _saved _again, to be talked down. For him to scoop her up in his arms and whisper sweet nothings and tell her it would all be okay all over again.

She wanted him to save her and he didn't want to anymore. Not this time. Not again. _Never_ again. He wanted to step back, to shut out her threats and let her damn well pull the trigger if that was what she wanted. Kill her dead. No breath to give life, to give _murder_, to make him scream so loud.

"If you knew what I had done to come back to you," she said mournfully. "We could have had something."

The air was very still then. All guns remained steadily, ironically trained on her. It seemed like a small lifetime was passing between those walls, squishing down time to condense an eon into the small, fleeting space of a moment.

Was time relative like that? Could it be stretched and condensed at will, changed as one needed it to be? Could he manipulate things so that Katrina was a strangled millisecond and Ziva the longest crescendo? He wanted the symphony for her. He wanted the eons, the millennia. Forever somehow didn't see sufficient in describing how long he wanted with her. What had he ever seen in Katrina, this little girl-woman standing before him now?

She looked tired then, weary. As though the life blood of the world had been forced through her and then sucked out, leaving things blurry and disarrayed in its wake. Dry. Dying. Indifferent. It was the thing making her look so pathetic, so useless and vapid. Insignificant. As though time was pressing her down into nothingness, into air before his eyes.

He wondered what would happen if he shot her. If he lost control for just one minutes and just shot her. Would she scream when the bullet seared through her pale flesh, her voice echoing hauntingly off the beige apartment walls? Would she stare at him with betrayal colouring her features and choke on her final words where she cursed his very name? Or would she just say nothing at all, fall to the ground so he could take some blame in everything? Prove her right. The violence of men. The longings of men to kill, to rape, to _hurt_. To hurt vulnerable, helpless little women. Him, standing alone, the final aribiter of violence. Of _abuse_.

It would be fitting in a bitter, ironic sort of way. _But it could be so . . . ._God, it was tempting! One shot. One moment. So quick. Just pull the trigger, not even think. Later, he could say that it was PTSD. Later, Gibbs and the others would protest his arrest, any trial that might try to drag him through, any staining charges – there would be no residue of this in his life other than in his own mind. It couldn't be mere coincidence that man who murdered Shannon and Kelly Gibbs was himself dead – Gibbs was fiercely protective, to loyal and too grieved still. He knew the feeling. He _knew_ it.

So they would understand. They wouldn't judge him. Might even support, call it catharsis. He wondered how much they wanted to shoot her now themselves. How many wanted to kill her. Did they want to kill her themselves, relish the blood spatter and bask in the fresh-coursing adrenaline or did they hope she would pull the trigger and the do it herself? Then it would be taken care of, done. No messy paperwork, no trying to explain, no lies. Just dead and gone.

Pax vobiscum.

Maybe they wanted her to live though. Maybe they wanted to watch her rot in prison, growing steadily older until her skin was falling away from her bones, withering and dying. He wasn't sure that _he_ didn't want to see the look on her face when the judge damned her. He wanted to wipe the slight smirk off her face. How could she keep playing with him like this? Was it all a game to her, then? A sick, twisted game?

In that fraction of a moment, he was going to do it. Consequences be damned, he didn't care if he went to jail as long as she couldn't ever come back. He would shoot her dead if only to see the shock in her eyes. He'd be stronger this time, be strong enough to do what he should have done last Christmas. . .

His breath hitched only so slightly but Ziva had been watching him and _she noticed_. A worse prick of worry of building in her now, bubbling and aching and demanded voice. He had such a strange look on his face and to be perfectly honest she didn't like it all.

He wasn't showing signs of fatigue like he should have been, holding the gun like that for so long, or the mental strain of just _dealing_ with Katrina and everything that was happening around them. His eyes and gun were trained on her slim little form still, steel running through them. He looked a little lost and a little crazed and she had a knot in her stomach and _Oh God please Tony don't do something you end up regretting . . . !_

She knew, she _knew_ how he felt because she had been there too. When she caught the man responsible for the bombing that killed Tali, she was the same, thinking only of revenge, of fury, of hopeless pain. A single thought whipping through her head: _It could be so easy_. She wanted to tell Tony to stand down, not to give in. But she couldn't. Undermining him in front of Katrina might set him off. Hell, another woman ordering him around might make him turn the corner and lose it.

She had the fight the urge to protect him from himself. This was exactly what Katrina wanted; to turn him into a monster too, prove the evil of all men, the capacity they all had to damage women. He couldn't do it; he would never forgive himself in the long run. She would not let such a thing come to pass, she decided. Ziva glanced at Gibbs, desperately hoping he had some kind of plan. But at the moment he was looking just like her; one eye trained on Tony and his gun, one eye trained on Katrina and her gun.

"What does that even mean? 'We have had something'. . ." Tony bitterly spat. Katrina faltered a minute, her eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. But then she was back, resolve even firmer in the face of adversity.

"I loved you," she said, voice and eyes. The gun wavered ever so slightly, trembling in her delicate little hands.

Ziva struggled not to voice her protest. _She's lying to you, Tony,_ she thought desperately. _It's not true. That's not love. People who love you don't hurt you. _Again, Ziva threw a desperate look to Gibbs. Again, there was nothing in him to help her. And honestly, she was starting to panic just a little bit be cause she had not come this far, crossed all the minefields of her mind to get to Tony and slip-quick lose him. It couldn't happen, it just couldn't.

"You loved me?" Tony's voice had a strange tone to it as though he were in some sort of trance and Ziva did not like it one bit. Was it possible that he seriously believed the words coming out of her mouth? God, this was all such a nightmare! How long until she woke up? How long? _Don't listen, don't listen! _

He looked somewhat dazed and her heart was staring to pound rather uncomfortably now. Another couple of minutes of this and she wasn't sure she would be able to control herself, to resist shooting the little blond devil. She couldn't let anything happen to Tony. Not with everything he had already been through. Not when she wanted so badly (_selfishly_) for him to be safe for _her_.

She couldn't let anything happen to Tony, not when she had only just gotten him, just now begun to breathe life inot this delightful thing just wriggling under her fingertips. She knew too many dead loved ones and she couldn't _deal_ with it anymore. Not now. Not him. God, please not Tony. She deserved some good thing in life after so long. . .

"Of course, Tony," Katrina whispered, everything delicate and soft. _Don't listen, don't listen . . ._

"You sure had a funny way of showing it." The anger in his voice resonating, uncomfortably loud in the silent, still room. The tension was all but tangible from the way his eyes were trained on her, steady and steel. Katrina winced and Ziva gripped her gun just a little tighter. Katrina's eyes were bigger now, and it almost looked like she was going to start crying. Ziva hoped not. That was the last thing they needed.

"Do you know what that awful man did to me?" Katrina asked. She hadn't raised her voice but there was a unsettling undercurrent of repressed fury and bitterness hiding in her tone. Tony said nothing her eyes flashed, narrowing as she shed the illusion of innocence and became hard, angry. "It was rape, you know. A marine who liked twelve year-old girls. Where was NCIS then, huh?" she questioned, her grip tightening on the gun.

_Don't lose it, Katrina . . ._

A bitter laugh. "Yes, quite the one! He took pictures, too. Gave them to all his little war buddies. Isn't that sick? A child pornography ring just under the surface of the US marines. And where _was_ NCIS _then_, Mr. Navy Cop, huh? Riddle me that! Where were you when I needed you? Why didn't anyone protect me? I was so sad and scared and alone and there wasn't anyone there!" The room was silence and Tony looked stunned. Ziva struggled.

_Don't listen to her! Don't believe her!_

"Katrina – I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely, concern marking his features. She growled and glared at him.

"Fuck you!" she cried. "You should have been there. So what was happened, huh? Speak!" A strange look crossed her face and suddenly she was looking at Ziva. Ziva was startled but fought the urge to back away. She didn't like the look in this girl's eyes, didn't like it one bit. She was a madwoman. "Speak, thou painted maypole! How low am I? I am not yet so low but the my nails can reach unto thine eyes!"

The women flew backwards as Katrina pitched herself as Ziva. The gun sounded, hitting Katrina in the stomach. Yet it didn't seem to deter her very much. Her own gun had been dropped and things went to chaos as they scrabbled to get at her.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Tony screamed, pulling her off. Katrina howled in protest.

"I only dated you because I thought you might help me get some goddamn retribution. And you were so blinded by _that_ one that you couldn't see you nose in front of you face," she hissed. He frowned.

"No one can see their nose in front of their face," he argued. She laughed, blood eerily dripping down her side as Gibbs placed handcuffs on her.

"Exactly," she whispered darkly, eyes alight. "But when you look in the mirror! Look in mirror. You can see your nose when you look in the mirror. And we all love to agonise over that reflection, don't we?"

As Katrina was escorted out of the house, continuing to laugh, Tony shuddered. He felt an overwhelming pity for her, but at the same time was glad to see her gone, glad that she would never, _ever_ come back into his life. He made his way over to Ziva, protesting against the paramedics.

"Are you here to spring me?" she asked hopefully. He said nothing, merely leaned down and kissed her. Without fail she melted into it, the trauma strengthened their need to connect, to reaffirm that they were _alive_ and that that wasn't going to change.

Carpe diem.

Seize the day.

Or so McGee thought to himself as he snapped a picture with his iPhone and sent it off to what he imagined to be a very shreiky Abby.


	12. Epilogue: Soulmates

Epilogue: Soulmates

* * *

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies"

Aristotle

* * *

Life goes on.

It was a December morning like any other; the twenty-fourth, a Thursday. Trying to get through the week, trying to pull through the muck. Mornings, he ran at least six miles, sometimes more. It was getting better. The nightmares were finally starting to recede, ebb away from the fractured bits of his mind. No more waking up at three and needing a cold shower and noise, or some soothing drug or drink to make everything blissfully black. Now, when he woke up Ziva was there beside him to whisper soothing words, having been woken by his screaming. The woman could sleep through their alarm clock and the construction at the neighbours', but if he so much as whimpered she shot right up, cocking her gun. Later, she told him that she had nightmares too, that she sometimes dreamt of Katrina, of a black mass engulfing him and dragging him away from her and wasn't it unfair for her lose him when she had only, only just found him?

Gibbs, of course, they hid it from. Although Tony kind of thought he knew anyway – it was _Gibbs, _after all. But he didn't say anything, didn't want to spoil it. Besides, there was some precious tenderness he found in having Ziva all to himself. This little world they had together – sometimes he wished he could shut down the world and go away with her. And he was so afraid of losing her! But for whatever (beautiful) reason, she was still here, still there every night. And he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

"Gibbs would have us work on Christmas Eve," Tony grumbled, staring at his computer screen and yet not really seeing anything on it. He blinked, and the soft edges flashed sharp for a minute before receding again and giving way to blurriness. Tired. All he wanted to do was go home and crash. Or Ziva's place. Really, they were almost interchangeable to him at this point.

"I always worked Christmas Eve," Ziva said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Tony rolled his eyes and with practiced skill threw a paper plane at her. It struck in her in the temple and she gasped and jumped, more from surprise than any kind of pain.

"I cannot believe you just did that!" she hissed, glaring at Tony and looking for Gibbs. "You are so immature!"

"That's not what you thought last night."

"What? Tony, that does not even make sense," Ziva scolded. She turned back to her computer screen, and Tony frowned. Work be damned, he had about all the concentration of an ADD kid at Disney world. He clicked through to his favorite internet radio site and turned to holiday music station. He turned on his speakers, and Mariah Carey's clear voice began to fill the office.

"Gibbs is going to kill you," McGee said, not looking up from his paper work. Tony shrugged and crossed the office.

"C'mon," he said, taking Ziva by the hand and pulling her into the middle of the office.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he wrapped one arm around her waist and took one of her hands in his. "Tony."

"Zee-vah," he returned, smiling. "We're _dancing_."

"I figured that out. Why are we dancing?" she asked as he turned her and then pulled her back to him, holding her closer than before.

"Because it's Christmas."

She gave a small laugh and her gaze softened as he rocked her gently. Dammit, he was going to make her soft and be the death of her. And yet . . . she closed her eyes and began humming along to the music, letting the unfamiliar notes glide across her lips. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a terrible thing to die for.

"I told you," Abby hissed excitedly. McGee jumped at the sound of her voice and she laughed, dark eyes sparkling. "They're in _love_."

"Don't scare me like that." But he was smiling too, and the stack of white paper was forgotten as they watched. "Gibbs is going to kill them."

"Love of my heart, light of life," Tony whispered in Ziva's ear. She blushed and lowered her gaze, but held him just a little tighter.

"My love," she said softly, and neither noticed as the song changed, or as their audience grew. Which would explain why he didn't hesitate to catch her lips in his, and why she didn't push him away.

And on the edge of the crowd, even Gibbs had to smile at them.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Looking over this story recently, it just didn't feel complete. So I decided a little epilogue was in order - Merry Christmas!


End file.
